


In Never Ending Nights

by somepeoplearewild



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Anal maybe who knows, Blow Jobs, Djinni & Genies, F/M, Female Stiles Stilinski, Genderswap, Girl Stiles is insufferable and completely ooc, Hand Jobs, Just the smallest amount of Stisaac, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation, Nymphs & Dryads, Sc-sciles uwu, Side Steter, Side Stydia, Suddenly-a-girl!Stiles, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, im sorry this isn’t as filthy as it sounds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 16:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14773364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somepeoplearewild/pseuds/somepeoplearewild
Summary: The girl staring back at him.... it’s him. She’s got the same warm brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, button nose, freckles, thick eyebrows, pouty lips— oh andfucking tits.





	1. Vagisil

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Reflections by MisterWives
> 
> Set after 3a (look at story notes bc i gotta explain myself on this one)
> 
> Nogitsune doesnt happen
> 
> Derek doesn’t give up his alpha spark to cora
> 
> Just know, the original premise for this was “Stiles washes his body with Vagisil and turns into a girl”

Stiles panics looking at all the products in Lydia’s shower. She’s decanted almost every product into cute little multi-designed containerswhose labels have been nearly if not completely washed off. He opens them one by one, sniffing and testing consistency until he finds one that even remotely resembles shower gel.

 

It smells kind of weird and flowery, but he’d much rather smell of flowers than blood, dirt, and sweat like he does now. It’s been a rough night, and were he not accustomed to ending up in all sorts of shitty, life-threatening situations, he would be more freaked out than he is now. But he’s used to it. Used to being a soft, fleshy human amongst supernatural creatures. Used to compartmentalising the trauma and storing it away to deal with some other time aka never.

 

He’s all good. In fact, he knows this is the best he’s going to feel for the next three days, which will be nothing but aching muscles and poorly concealed limping. While he can, he just enjoys the hot water beating down on his tired body, relaxing the muscles and washing away the traces of fighting for their lives, not for the last time probably.

 

He uses another bottle that has a minty scent to wash his hair. He figures it’s tea tree oil that he’s smelling, but if it’s not, who cares? What’s the worst that could happen? He has bad hair for a day? Oh well. At least he’s _alive_.

 

••••

 

When Stiles wakes up the next morning on Lydia’s floor where she so kindly asked him to sleep the night before, he’s lying in a pile of hair. A lot of hair. He sits up frantically, hoping that he hadn’t done something stupid with Lydia. He’s just barely earned her trust as a friend. He doesn’t want to lose it.

 

To his surprise and horror, the hair moves with him, falling directly into his face.

 

“Shut the fuck up,” he gasps as his hand tugs the strands which pulls his scalp, movement stuttering when he hears his own voice. “Is that... Is that _me_?” He scrambles to his feet quickly, clumsily stumbling into the bathroom.

 

It feels like the air has been sucked out of the room when he gets a clear view of himself.... or rather herself. He blinks one time very hard, counting to three in his head before he opens his eyes again.

 

The girl staring back at him.... it’s him. She’s got the same warm brown eyes, sharp cheekbones, button nose, freckles, thick eyebrows, pouty lips— oh and _fucking tits_.

 

They’re pretty nice as far as boobs go and Stiles has seen quite a few in porn during the wee hours of the morning when he knows his dad isn’t awake and won’t barge in. Not that he would have been sleeping anyway. He’s surprised he slept so soundly on Lydia’s carpet, but then again he did have the shit whipped out of him the night before so maybe not.

 

He shakes his head as his train of thought veers offtrack, eyes widening in horror when his boobs slightly jiggle with the motion. So if he has boobs.... does that mean—?

 

His hands fly to his crotch patting frantically trying to find his penis, which IT’S NOT THAT SMALL SO WHY DOESN’T HE FEEL IT?!

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Who the–“ The words die on Lydia’s pillowy, pink lips when Stiles looks up at her. She’s no fool. She knows those honey brown eyes anywhere. She doesn’t need confirmation, but she can help blurting “ _Stiles_?”

 

“I think I have a vagina!”

 

••••

 

Lydia paces back and forth. Stiles has run her through the events of the night before about eight times, and she’s stumped. She has no idea of what could have triggered the transformation. He’s literally a woman, sitting on her bed right now. It’s more than surreal. And that’s saying something with the shit they’ve been through.

 

“What happened after we got here?”

 

“I told you already! As soon as we got here, I let you take a shower. Sat on the floor because you didn’t want me getting your couch dirty while you showered for five hours.” Lydia rolls her eyes at his little jab. “Then I went in, played a guessing game with your twelve million bottles of god knows what, and got out. Ate a slim jim. Then I slept on your floor. The end. That’s all.”

 

“You messed with my products?!”

 

“I needed _soap_ , Lydia! I was covered in fucking blood!”

 

Lydia _‘hmphs!’_ at him, and stops in her tracks. “What exactly did you use?”

 

“I washed my hair with the minty smelling soap.”

 

“Tea tree oil. Good.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. And then I conditioned my hair with the gloopy white stuff that smelled like really clean.”

 

Lydia grimaces. “My shower moisturiser.”

 

“Then I washed my body with that stuff that smelled kinda weird but also kind of like flowers.”

 

Lydia blanches, before a her lips begins to wobble slightly. “Stiles,” she says in a strained voice, eyes clouding up with tears as her face turns red. “Stiles, are you telling me you washed your body.... with Vagisil?” Lydia can’t control herself, her lips finally giving way to a smile as she chokes out a wheezing laugh. She laughs until she’s clawing at her sheets and the floor, tears streaming down her face as she struggles to get a breath in.

 

“It’s not funny!” Stiles gripes, ears and cheeks burning red from

embarrassment. “These things come in properly labelled bottles for a reason!”

 

Lydia only wheezes in response, nails clawing at his now ill-fitted sweat pants as she silently begs for release from her laughter filled hell. She’s read stories about people actually suffocating from laughing too hard.

 

“What am I supposed to do?! I have a vagina! What’s my dad gonna say? Scott? _Derek_? I can never show my face in public again!”

 

Lydia wipes the tears from her eyes as she lazily pulls herself onto the bed, the remnants of laughter still bubbling out of her every few seconds along with hiccups. “If anyone is going to help you, it’s them— _hyuck!_ — or Deaton.”

 

“What am I supposed to do? Just show up? I don’t have any clothes.” Stiles briefly wonders why that’s where his mind automatically goes, to his fucking clothes of all things.

 

“Borrow mine. You look... a little bigger than me but we can make it work. Maybe a dress or something because there’s no way your ass is fitting into my jeans.”

 

Stiles scowls, eyes darting down to inspect her hips and thighs insecurely. They aren’t huge or anything, but compared to Lydia’s....

 

Lydia throws a dress in his face, turning around to give him some privacy. It’s some flowery, flowy design, and thank fuck it has a built in bra. At least he won’t have to face that horror just yet. He just barely gets it over his head without strangling himself, the criss-crossed straps nearly decapitating him before he gets it right. The back, to his dismay, is open, with only a few skimpy little straps holding it snug to his torso. He kicks the rest of the way out of his pants, grimacing when his boxers fall right off, exposing his.....

 

 

v̴̟̰̙̬̹͎͙̝̙̰̖̻̦̎ͅa̴̢̲̭̹̣̩͈͕̿̋̒͂́̔͗̈́̎̒̚͝ͅg̷̢͇̟̤̫͈̫͖̮͐͗͜͝i̴̢͍̜̦̙̣̗͒͛̂̈́̚n̶̨̛͔̮͚̻̯̾̐̀͛͋̓̔̄̈̇͘̕͝ą̶̨̨̨̜͖̼͖͎̫̜͔̪͇̞́̓̓

 

 

“Um, I don’t....”

 

Lydia turns around, arms folded as she cocks her head. “You don’t what?”

 

“My....” Stiles motions around his crotch area. “I need.... panties,” he squeaks out in a small voice, choking when Lydia hits him in the face with a pair of black panties before he can even finish the word. The panties are black cotton in the front with a tiny pink bow, but the back, the back is lace. Almost see through. With a seam going right where her crack would be. She hesitantly pulls them on, pleasantly surprised by how they hug her ass and lady bits that she has yet to see.

 

“Now, we just have to do something with all that hair and you’ll be good to go. You can borrow a pair of my...” Lydia’s voice trails off as she eyes Stiles’ legs. “You’re shaving first.”

 

••••

 

When Stiles finally escapes the hellhole that is Lydia’s house, more specifically her bathroom, she’s all set with her hair brushed and parted and legs that feel like actual silk. She hops into her Jeep, squeaking in annoyance when she has to readjust the seat completely so she can see the road. She doesn’t have time to fix the side mirrors. She needs to see Scott immediately. She pulls out her phone, speed dialling her best friend who answers her with a “yeah?”

 

“On my way,” is all Stiles says before hanging up on him. She goes a little too fast the whole way to Scott’s house, running up the stairs to his front door and walking right in before he realises that he’s not himself.

 

“Can I help you?” Melissa calls out startled as Stiles throws out a half assed apology and makes a beeline to Scott’s room.

 

“LOOK AT ME!” Stiles yells a little too aggressively as he busts into Scott’s room, his friend going into full defence mode.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“It’s me, dude!”

 

“Who?”

 

“Stiles!”

 

Stiles sees a range of emotions cross his best friend’s face, including recognition, before it settles on confusion.

 

“What happened to you? You smell really freakin weird by the way.”

 

“Might have something to do with my vagina,” Stiles deadpans, closing the door behind him.

 

“No that’s not it. Your whole scent is different. It’s still you, but something else.”

 

“My vagina.”

 

Scott’s face runs blank as it finally sets in that Stiles actually has a vagina now. He briefly wonders what it looks like before the subtle scent hits him like a ton of bricks. Stiles _does_  have a vagina.

 

“We have to go to Derek. Maybe he’ll know something.”

 

“What about Deaton?” Stiles begs, hoping to avoid the eternal embarrassment of Derek and Peter Hale seeing him with tits.

 

“On vacation, remember?”

 

“Fuck my life.”


	2. Smeller I.D.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m just gonna go ahead and post the next part bc I hate when fics only post one chapter to begin it

Peter opens the door before they even knock, ushering them into the loft with a perplexed look on his face as Stiles squeezes past him.

 

“Have we met before?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten that time you held me over the trunk of your car and tried to fuck me.”

 

“What’s all this about?” Derek demands to know, eyebrows furrowing when Stiles and Scott turn around. “Who is this?”

 

“This is uhhh...” Scott fumbles over his words under Derek’s intense stare. He doesn’t like strangers in his living areas. The less supernatural creatures that know his address, the better.

 

“You all act like you don’t have smeller I.D. It’s _me_!”

 

“Me?”

 

“Stiles!”

 

“You don’t smell like Stiles,” Peter muses, coming to stand in front of the girl. “Well, you smell _like_  Stiles. Not the same as him.”

 

“Once again, let me direct everyone to the vagina that I spROUTED OVER NIGHT.”

 

“She sounds like him.”

 

Derek gets closer to her, then, walking circles around her before stopping and putting his nose by her neck. She already knows he can sense her pulse jump, and she’s well past the point of getting embarrassed over it. If everyone of these wolves doesn’t know she has a thing for the Hale family genes by now, then their spidey senses are trash.

 

Derek makes a contemplative rumbling noise deep in his throat, going in for more. While Stiles normally hates their scenting abilities because they give away every one of her problems and emotions, that’s exactly the kind of intrusive inspection she’s in need of at the moment.

 

“You. But different.”

 

“That’s what I said!” Scott exclaims, Derek nodding slightly to tell him he was right.

 

“She doesn’t just smell like a different person,” Peter says, causing Stiles to jump because she hadn’t realised he’d gotten that close to her what with Derek’s beautiful face all up in hers. “She smells like a different species. Her human scent is almost undetectable.”

 

“What? So I’m, like, a _thing_  now?”

 

“Only one way to find out,” Peter replies flippantly, slashing a claw down Stiles’ arm before she can even blink. It’s just a surface wound, but it stings enough to make Stiles grab her arm in pain, backing away from the psychopath who she semi-trusts for some reason.

 

When she removes her hand to check out the cut, she gasps. It’s a raw, red scar that’s transforming before her eyes back into smooth, unblemished skin.

 

“Okay, so that just happened.”

 

“What happened last night?”

 

“All I remember is one of those bitch djinn beating my ass then pushing me off the mud bank. Then I came to like an hour later and everything was pretty much taken care of.

 

“I told you you wouldn’t be able to see them,” Peter shrugs, waltzing into the kitchen.

 

“Where were you when you woke up?”

 

“Uhh.... in mud and water. Literally in the creek. I think I hit my head when I fell.”

 

Stiles immediately regrets mentioning that last bit as Scott goes straight into Dr. McCall mode, once again exemplifying the whole ‘I’m related to a trained and licensed professional’ complex that all children with parents in the medical field seem to have. After a series of verbal inquiries about Stiles’ injury (“Where does it hurt?” “It doesn’t.” “Where _did_  it hurt, smartass?” “Behind my ear sort of.” “Which ear? Can you be more specific?” “Left. Maybe.”), Scott takes it upon himself to grab Stiles by the face, palms cupping her jaw as his fingers feel their way up her neck. Were it not for the circumstance, Stiles would think Scott was trying to make moves on her.

 

It seems like everything is checking out, but as Scott goes to remove his fingers from feeling around her hairline, his thumb brushes something that makes Stiles hiss and jerk away. An acute burning sensation radiates from that spot across all the skin on her body, seeming to dissipate once it reaches her fingertips and toes.

 

“Hold still,” Scott commands in a stern voice, Derek and Peter moving in behind him to observe as Scott tilts Stiles’ head and brushes her hair to the other side of her neck. “When did you get a tattoo?” Stiles can’t see his face right now, but he’s almost certain Scott is cinching his furry eyebrows and squinting.

 

“A _tattoo_?” Stiles squeaks back, her voice entering an octave she’d never imagined possible.

 

“So you don’t ever remember getting snakes tattooed on your neck?”

 

Stiles gasps, and pulls away, cupping the area with her hand. ”Snakes?!” She runs to the bathroom, the three werewolves hot on her trail. She leans into the mirror, pulling her ear out of the way to reveal the white outline of two snakes intertwined. “Call Lydia.”

 

••••

 

“Okay, so I couldn’t find anything on two snakes intertwined as a symbol necessarily.”

 

Stiles sighs, dropping his head on one of the thirty something open books surrounding Lydia.

 

“ _Buuut_ , I did find information on snakes intertwined around a staff. Usually they’re wrapped around something. The caduceus was a staff held by Hermes, and is considered to be a symbol of commerce and communication. There are two theories of it’s origin that I could find myself. There’s a tale that says Hermes used his staff to separate two snakes, the staff and snakes then becoming a sign of peace. According to other stories in Greek mythology, it was given to Hermes by Apollo after a man named Tiresias struck two mating snakes...” Lydia bites her lip nervously, eyeing Stiles warily as she continues, voice soft. “...and the goddess Hera transformed him into a woman as punishment.”

 

Stiles sits up in disbelief, only to slouch back in the wooden chair immediately after, still trying to absorb this new information. “So... you’re saying a goddess turned me into a woman?”

 

Lydia shrugs, pink lips lifting in a sympathetic smile. “I’m not sure. I don’t think we can do anything about it until Deaton gets back.”

 

“What about the Argents?” Stiles asks on a whim, shrinking under Lydia’s deadpan gaze. She doesn’t have to say anything for Stiles to understand that she’s an idiot.

 

••••

 

“Okay,” Scott starts gently, Stiles waiting around the corner. They’d decided to wait until her dad got home to tell him, which in hindsight was pretty cruel. She just kind of ambushed him with the news. “Don’t freak out or anything, but something happened to Stiles-“

 

Her dad immediately freaks out. He catapults questions at Scott a mile a minute.

 

“Stiles is fine! .... At least we think so. But he’s.... _she’s_...” Stiles rolls her eyes at Scott’s theatric emphasis. “... a girl.”

 

The room goes dead silent until her father, in disbelief, hisses, “ _What._ ”

 

Stiles decides that this is the best time for her to step into the archway of the kitchen, the man’s eyes bulging from their sockets. He seems to be at a loss for words, his expression going from “this can’t be happening” to “its not the worst thing that’s ever happened” and then finally to “well okay then”.

 

“Don’t get pregnant,” is all he says to Stiles, clapping her on the shoulder as he goes into the kitchen and pours himself a generous serving of whiskey.

 

“Wait, that’s it?!” Stiles calls after him, long legs stumbling as she spins around and follows behind him.

 

“What do you want me to say?”

 

“Anything?! ‘Son, how did this happen?’ would be a fantastic start.” Stiles only feels weird for a second when she remembers she’s a daughter now.

 

“How did this happen?”

 

“We don’t know.”

 

“What are you going to do about it?”

 

“We don’t know.”

 

He raises his eyebrows as if to say, “Exactly.”

 

Stiles huffs, turning out of the kitchen to go to her room with Scott and play a nice, bloody video game.


	3. Bucketlist

Stiles has decided she’ll make the most of whatever this is. She’s made a bucket list for the two weeks she has to spend wearing panties. Which brings her to her first point:

 

  1. ~~Go lady commando~~
  2. Enter the ladies room legally
  3. Pee sitting down
  4. Play with the boobs
  5. Get free drinks
  6. Stop being a coward and look down there
  7. Makeup
  8. Heels
  9. Try tampons
  10. Find out if a clitoris even exists or if it’s a cruel trick to make men feel inferior
  11. Figure out what to do with potential clitoris
  12. What does a vagina taste like
  13. Masturbate at least once
  14. Get fingered (unlikely)
  15. Get head (highly unlikely)
  16. Have sex (impossible)



 

After writing out her list, Stiles is feeling fantastic. Her vagina is out in the female equivalent of "free-balling" it. (Free-labiaing it?) A boyband spotify playlist is blasting, and she actually _likes it_. Her (Lydia’s) dress is fun to spin around in. And best of all, she’s at home alone without any of the other fuckheads looking at her all brooding and concerned. She will panic about the state of her penis when Deaton gets back. Until then, it’s her time to shine.

 

Stiles still hasn’t seen it— her lady business— but she’s becoming slightly more comfortable with the idea as time goes on. She’ll have to pee or something eventually so there’s no avoiding it.

 

Stiles flops belly down on her bed, groaning as she flips onto her back, holding her very tender boobs through the dress. Apparently, belly flopping is a no-go until further notice. And neither is lying flat on her back, she notices, as it becomes marginally harder to breathe under the weight of them. Lying on her side isn’t very comfortable either because her arm just awkwardly sits on top of her boobs. A few hours in, and boobs are already ruined for her. Amazing.

 

Stiles grabs the Red Bull off her nightstand, chugging the rest before she hops off the bed again and goes to her computer. Research is needed.

 

Somehow, as is always the case with the internet, Stiles started off looking up female genital anatomy and has ended up watching a video on Wikipedia of a man ejaculating. Wikipedia actually has a video of a man jizzing. Stiles has seen semen coming out of a penis more times than she would like to admit— mostly her own (only her own)— so she has no idea why she’s mesmerised. Not by the video. It’s kind of gross. The guy doesn’t appeal to her at all. Being around werewolves and their impeccable bodies, her standards are astronomically higher than they should be for someone of her caliber of attractiveness. But something about the video engages a more primitive part of her female instincts. Stiles can sense herself, feel her body telling her to do something. But she doesn’t know what.

 

Curiosity wins as she finally just relents and goes to a porn website, looking up “guys coming” and surfing through the thumbnails. As a guy, he was “straight with bicurious tendencies.” As a girl, she’s surprised to find that she doesn’t have a preference. Like, at all. And she’s not as attracted to Lydia which is, in itself, a wild concept.

 

Stiles leans forward on her chair, unknowingly pressing herself into it as she bites her lip and stares starry-eyed at a man in a business suit rubbing himself through his slacks. Stiles, a connoisseur of secretly watching porn, has one earbud in, the other dangling freely as the man grunts lowly in her ear.

 

Stiles absentmindedly rocks forward again, her grip tightening on the front of the stool as she notices the pulsating feeling between her legs. Not knowing exactly what to do, Stiles just keeps on rubbing herself against the faux leather. Her hips begin to jerk out of rhythm as her abs clench and spasm erratically. She slides against the seat frantically, eyes clenching shut as she focuses all her energy on staying in motion. Her gentle moans are stilted by harsh panting. “Holy fuck, fuck me,” Stiles whimpers, all whiny and pathetic, and it’s the sound of her own voice that makes her legs clamp up around her arms, body crumpling in on itself as she moans, high and sweet. Her pussy clenches against the seat over and over, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she comes down, a dirty smile spreading across her face while she rides out the last pulses of her orgasm.

 

Now that’s what the fuck she’s talking about.

 

Stiles leans back in the chair, noticing with a curious interest that the material is slippery and wet. Just for scientific reasons only, she reaches down, running two fingers through the wetness. She tacks her fingers and thumbs together, noting the sticky consistency, smelling her fingers (pleasantly surprised that she likes it), before popping them in her mouth.

 

It’s not great to be honest. Kind of tart, tangy, not at all sweet like all of the lies she’s heard. She files it under ‘Better Smelled Than Tasted’.

 

Slowly, Stiles peels back her skirt, eyes widening when she sees herself. It’s swollen and red and wet and kind of cute she’s not gonna lie. It’s not very hairy considering Stiles was never a very hairy person to begin with. Her legs were probably the hairiest part of her before Lydia destroyed years of hard-earned growth.

 

She briefly considers texting someone a pic of it to get their opinion on if it’s a cute vagina, but she can’t think of anyone to text. Lydia can’t judge her vagina because Lydia doesn’t like vaginas. She’s not on vagina pic terms with Derek because he’ll probably think she’s hitting on him. And she would text Scott, but she doesn’t want an arrow through her throat courtesy of Allison Argent. But of course, there is _one_ person who gives two shits about Stiles, and so she texts him.

 

**can I send u a pic of my vaggie**

 

**absolutely not**

 

**i need a second opinion**

 

**no**

 

**just the top?**

 

**funny. no.**

 

_**Photo sent.** _

 

Stiles picks up on the second ring, cheesing into the phone as she hears a long pause before the man on the other line speaks up.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

 

“Well, um. I woke up this morning with a v–“

 

“No. Don’t text me ever again.”

 

“Is it cute?” Stiles asks, ignoring his command as she twirls her finger in her hair.

 

“ _What_?” Peter splutters.

 

“Is it cute? Like if you were twenty years younger and not a raging murderous psychopath, would you hit it?”

 

“I don’t have time for this. Don’t call me again.”

 

“You called me,” Stiles simpers, very satisfied with her comeback as the line goes dead.

 

The rest of Stiles night is uneventful. She cleans her chair, deletes her browsing history, takes a shower, then lies down, feeling physically and emotionally exhausted.

 

••••

 

Stiles wakes up early the next morning to tapping on her window. It’s Derek. She can already sense him somehow. It’s weird. Stiles just rolls over in bed, flipping Derek off from where she’s snuggled up in her blankets. He scowls at her through the glass, pointing at the latch on her window as if she hadn’t purposely locked it. You start checking locks after you find out about werewolves and kanimas and djinn and druids. The locks won’t stop them, but they’ll slow them down.

 

Stiles reluctantly swings her legs over the edge of the bed, padding toward the door in her white sleep shirt and overly baggy boxers. She flips the latch, turning around to stretch and yawn as Derek lets himself in.

 

“So... how are you feeling?”

 

Stiles whips around, not used to Derek outwardly inquiring about anyone’s emotional state. Obviously he cares about everyone, but he likes to think he doesn’t show it.

 

“Good,” Stiles smiles, mischief tainting the corners of her lips as she says: “And how is my alpha this morning?”

 

“Stop it.” Derek plops down in Stiles’ desk chair, face going blank for a second before he whips his head up at Stiles. He doesn’t speak, mouth opening and closing like a fish before he decides not saying anything is the best route for him right now.

 

“Oh don’t act like you wouldn’t!”

 

Stiles is over their super keen sense of smell always ratting her out. As if Derek has never jerked off before. He spends so much time alone that’s probably all he does. And Stiles only knows this because with Allison in the picture now, she can relate. “What are you here for?”

 

“I think it would be a good idea to see what you’re capable of before you accidentally kill someone.”

 

“How am I gonna kill someone? With my vagina?”

 

Derek pauses. He doesn’t even sigh and Stiles still knows he’s sighing somewhere in his soul. “You healed the other day. You don’t think that’s the only thing you’re capable of, do you?”

 

“I mean... What do you mean? Like I have claws and fangs and glowing eyes now?”

 

Derek shrugs, feigning nonchalance before he suddenly grabs Stiles’ $200 graphing calculator and chucks it at her.

 

Stiles panics, heart racing as she shrieks at him because she’ll literally never be able to afford another one of these and the only reason she got it is because Lydia upgraded calculators last semester. “You fucking asshole!”

 

Derek just smirks and nods his head at her hand where she’s gripping the calculator tightly. Her eyes widen comically. She didn’t even notice that she’d caught it. She doesn’t even remember moving her hand. Okay, so maybe Derek has a point.

 

••••

 

“This is bullshit,” Stiles whines. She’s been sparring with Scott for half an hour and he’s been going so easy on her that it’s practically an insult. He’s still in human form. He didn’t even bother to shift.

 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

“Well, I heal so why do you care? Fuck me up. I’ll get over it.”

 

“You’re a girl.”

 

“Kiss my clit, you misogynistic pig.”

 

Scott shrugs then, charging at Stiles. He still doesn’t let her take the full impact, flipping them mid-fall so that her back lands on his chest. Stiles tries to scramble away, but Scott hooks his legs around hers, one arm looping hers behind her back.

 

“No,” Stiles begs, knowing exactly what’s coming. Scott hasn’t done this in years, mostly because it kind of got weird to tickle each other once they both started getting boners. She can feel his evil grin before his other arm is reached around her body, tickling her side.

 

“Stop! Please! Stop!” Stiles looks to Derek for help, but he just looks away with a reluctantly amused smile.

 

“Stop!”

 

The tickling isn’t fun anymore. It was cool for two seconds, and now it’s a legitimate form of torture. Stiles has passed annoyed and crossing the over threshold into pissed off. In a last ditch effort before she actually suffocates, Stiles turns her hands toward Scott’s stomach, instinct completely taking over as she feels her nails jut out suddenly.

 

Scott releases her— throws her forward away from him actually. “What the fuck, Stiles?!”

 

Stiles meets Derek’s shocked gaze before turning around to see what’s wrong with Scott. He’s bleeding through the front of his shirt, and she looks down at her own hands. Her nails are long and sharp, pointed straight out like obsidian daggers. They’re also covered in Scott’s blood.

 

“Your eyes.”

 

“You’re bleeding!”

 

Scott looks straight past Stiles to Derek. “What do you know of that has green eyes?”

 

“Dude! I stabbed you!”

 

Derek crosses his arms and furrows his beautiful eyebrows in concentration. “I’m not sure. Some kanima have green eyes, but they don’t have talons like that.” He sighs then, reluctantly pulling his phone out. “I know who would know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i'm almost finished writing this. i think. maybe. i might flesh out the magical creature stiles arc in more detail and make an actual /thing/ out of it instead of just wrapping it up with an explanation from deaton.
> 
> sorry for the shitty smut


	4. YOLO

Stiles smiles widely at Peter from across the worn out dinner table in Derek’s loft. He refuses to look her in the eye and it’s fantastic. Who knew all it took to intimidate him was suddenly sprouting a vagina and sending it to him? She now realises her vagina is too powerful. This is why she wasn’t born with one.

 

“Forest green. Like emerald and glowing.”

 

Peter sits back in his chair, arms folded, looking like a douche as always. “I’ve never heard of them being _made_  before. Usually they’re born. Ancient creatures.”

 

“Skip the theatrics!” Stiles demands, slamming her hands on the table with an infuriating smile, forcing Peter to acknowledge her. “Just say it, old man!”

 

“At this point, not ripping your throat out is only a courtesy. Don’t test me.”

 

“Well I bet I could kill you back,” Stiles smirks, flicking out her claws as she practised while waiting for Peter to arrive.

 

Peter doesn’t even bother explaining everything wrong with what Stiles just said. Instead he sighs tiredly. “Probably not. Forest nymphs are pests not predators.”

 

“Stiles is a forest nymph?” Scott asks, eyeing Peter suspiciously like the semi-human personification of a lie that he is.

 

“Without a doubt.”

 

“Of course you get turned into a fucking werewolf and I end up being a fairy. This is bullshit,” Stiles pouts.

 

Scott pats her shoulder consolingly. He’s a good friend when he’s not connected cock to mouth with Allison.

 

“Nymphs are extraordinary manipulators. Akin to sirens but without consuming human flesh.”

 

“So I’m not even a killer fairy.”

 

“Did you _want_ to be a killer fairy?”

 

“Maybe,” Stiles grumbles, pulling her ponytail over her shoulder and fiddling with the end. For some reason this body came with a ridiculous amount of hair. Stiles had tried cutting it to a reasonable length the day before with scissors from the kitchen but it grew back by the time Derek climbed in her window this morning. Maybe she probably should have told him that little fact. Oh well.

 

“You don’t have it in you.”

 

“Wanna bet?”

 

“Enough,” Derek interrupts, giving Peter a look because he has no excuse for bickering with a seventeen year old. He fixes Stiles with a glare when she snickers.

 

“I am sorry, my alph– ouch!”

 

••••

 

“So when do we show each other our tits?” Stiles asks excitedly. She’s sitting on a frilly pillow on the floor in front of the sofa in Lydia’s room. Allison is behind her braiding her hair while Lydia paints her toenails.

 

“Repeating the joke doesn’t make it funnier.”

 

Stiles leans in and curls her upper lip at Lydia, yelping when Allison jerks her back by her hair. Rude bitch.

 

“First of all, fuck you,” Allison replies. “Secondly, stop moving. You’re messing up the braid.”

 

“I’m about to go to sleep. Why does it matter?”

 

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

 

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

 

Stiles has to be the most accommodating human sized Barbie doll to ever exist. Her nails are lilac. She has on some face mask that itches and smells like perfume and sulphur. Her legs have been waxed, and if Lydia has any say in the matter, her snatch will be bald by the end of the night. Stiles is so compliant. The least they could do is show her some nip.

 

“Moving on,” Lydia says, one of her infamous smirks quirking at the corner of her bubblegum lips before she continues. “Which one of the guys are you going to fuck?”

 

Both Stiles and Allison choke simultaneously, Allison recovering much quicker than Stiles who continues to take on to avoid answering the question.

 

“Lydia, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

 

“Why not? She should have fun while she can.”

 

“But what if it’s not a yolo thing? What if she stays a girl? That’s going to be awkward.”

 

“Is there anyone you have a crush on?”

 

Stiles bites her lip, deliberating the question. The Hales automatically come to mind, and while they are the main stars of all her fantasies, they’re too old and complicated.All of the guys on the lacrosse team are out of the question. Isaac is.... cute. But he’s about as fond of Stiles as Allison, so not very.

 

“Well, I don’t really want to have sex with a random guy, but all the guys I know aren’t an option.”

 

“I thought you had a crush on Derek.”

 

“One, Derek no le gustame. Two, he’s like a whole ass adult. Three, he’s an alpha werewolf. Four, I’m not embarrassing myself like that. I’d like to come out of this ordeal with at least the residue of my dignity.”

 

“Is that why you’re sending Peter-“

 

Stiles interrupts Lydia with a scream, nearly kicking over the bottle of nail polish beside her feet. Stiles can’t even formulate a sentence, just shouting “HOW?” at Lydia, face mask cracking from her shocked and appalled expression.

 

“I went through your phone while you were in the bathroom earlier.”

 

Allison just looks from Lydia to Stiles and back to Lydia. “What am I missing here?”

 

Lydia smirks, screwing up the nail polish before Stiles can ruin her very nice, very expensive rug with her flailing. “Stiles has been sending risqué pictures to Peter.”

 

Allison’s gasp is cut off by Stiles shrieking, “It was _one_!”

 

Allison hits Stiles’ shoulder with a hairbrush. “Did you forget about the time Peter tried to murder us all?”

 

“No! I only sent it to him because I couldn’t send it to Scott— or Derek!” Stiles adds quickly before Allison can raise the hand with the brush again. “I wanted a dude’s opinion.”

 

“So you settled on Peter?”

 

“Yes,” Stiles huffs, only now noticing the abundant flaws in her logic. She doesn’t care. What’s done is done.

 

“Fuck him,” Lydia remarks out of nowhere. Sometimes it feels like she only says these things for the shock value, but then Stiles remembers Lydia is a borderline sociopath who bears little to no regard for other human beings’ relationships. It’s one of the reasons guy Stiles had a crush on her. For some odd reason, she has always loved the idea of a dark romance. She wouldn’t tell anyone this ever in a million years because it’s cringey and embarrassing, but she can’t help being attracted to people who intimidate her.

 

“Lydia.”

 

“Allison.”

 

“Why do I have to fuck _anyone_? I mean, if I come out of all of this without having sex, then I’ll just live with it.”

 

An infuriating smile spreads across Lydia’s perfect lips, her mouth falling open with a realisation. “You’re still a virgin.”

 

“No!” Stiles answers a bit too quickly, and Lydia sees right through it.

 

“That’s why you’re being so picky about who it’s with!”

 

Stiles sighs, narrow shoulders slumping as she leans back against the sofa. “I don’t know if you noticed, but guy-Stiles wasn’t exactly much of a catch.”

 

“Well, I don’t know if _you’ve_  noticed,” Lydia smirks, leaning forward on her knees to get in her face, olive green eyes piercing Stiles’ brown ones, “but girl-Stiles is a fox.”

 

“But you said I was fat.”

 

Lydia sits back, rolling her eyes. “ _No_ , I said you’re not going to fit into my jeans, which duh. Your body proportions are like completely different than mine. I’m about five inches shorter than you. Also your tits are huge.”

 

“They’re... normal,” Stiles replies, craning her head back to look at he boobs self consciously.

 

Allison makes an _ehh_  sound behind her.

 

“Bigger than ours. You’re at least a D.”

 

“So is this finally the part of the sleepover where we show each other our tits?”

 

“I don’t know why I ever tried to help you.”

 

••••

 

Stiles boredly twirls a piece of hair around her finger. She’s sitting on her back porch with Scott and Isaac, not doing much besides lying there in the sweltering heat because Scott is an actual masochist and wanted to train with Isaac in her backyard in ninety degree weather. Although— she must admit— watching two sweaty, muscular dudes wrestle each other isn’t exactly a chore.

 

Stiles stretches as she drags herself off the weathered patio sofa. The originally red cushions are a sun-faded pink and a little dusty. She sighs as she reenters the beautiful air conditioning of her kitchen. There has to be something in her freezer that she can push against her face. She notices her reflection in the window as she passes by to get a bag of peas or something. Her face is flushed, the small hairs around her hairline plastered to her face. She’d (sloppily) braided her hair in twin braids in an effort to escape the sweltering sauna her hair was creating around her body.

 

She’s pleasantly surprised to find not only a real ice pack but also a box of fruit popsicles. She’ll scold her dad later about the processed sugar. For now, she digs out one that appears to be red behind the white opaque wrapper. She does a little dance as she unwraps it to find the flavor she wanted.

 

Stiles waltzes back outside with her ice pack and popsicle, pushing the hand with the ice pack against her back under her tank top as she gets settled. Stiles happily sucks on her treat, scrolling through the Wikipedia page on nymphs. She knows there’s not really anything useful on the page as humans have just about half of their information wrong, but Stiles has literally nothing better to do.

 

Her ears perk when she notices the feint sound of heavy breathing. No more grunting and growling and laughing. She looks up to find Scott and Isaac frozen mid-tussle, staring at her with their yellow wolfy wolf eyes.

 

“Is everything okay?” she asks, eyebrows furrowing. Scott snaps out of it first, tossing Isaac off of him.

 

“Yeah, we’re good,” he shouts unnecessarily, unaware of Stiles’ heightened senses. It’s nowhere near what a werewolf has, but she can definitely hear and see better than before. It didn’t really seem like a pertinent detail. She thought everyone else would assume it.

 

“Do you guys need a break? I can get you water bowls and some Scooby snacks.” She laughs out as Scott and Isaac glare at her. “Oh come on! I was just kidding.” She quickly sticks the popsicle back in her mouth, sucking the collected juices off it before it can drip onto her thighs or Allison’s shorts.

 

“Fuck,” Isaac growls, and while it would be inaudible to her human ears, her nymph ears pick up on it, lips freezing on the popsicle as her eyes flick up to meet his. That was definitely arousal. Stiles can sense it. She can’t smell emotions, but she can sort of _feel_  the very strong ones, like vibrations of different frequencies. And that vibration was low and rolling and _hot_.

 

If Stiles wasn’t a virgin and Scott wasn’t literally right there staring between the two of them with wide eyes, she’d have him laid out on the grass. God, has he always been that tall?

 

“That’s enough for today. You can go home,” Scott says pointedly to Isaac, breaking him and Stiles out of their little staredown. He has a protective edge to his voice that Stiles wishes she could appreciate, but honestly she just wants to replace her popsicle with Isaac’s–

 

Her train of thought is harshly interrupted by her popsicle falling off the stick and into her lap. She gasps, standing up quickly to get it off. She doesn’t wait on the boys to sort their issues out, she doesn’t have time. She barely gets into the hallway before she’s throwing off the shorts and running into the bathroom. Allison is going to kill her. Allison is going to skullfuck her with a pistol then blow her brains out. The light blue denim now has a giant pink splotch on it.

 

“Stiles.”

 

Stiles jumps, bar of soap slipping out of her hand as she attempts to grab it with her other hand and ends up fumbling with it until it hits the linoleum floor. She glares up at Scott, the boy poorly concealing his smile.

 

“Sorry...” Scott’s demeanour changes by the time Stiles has bent down and picked up the bar of soap. She rinses it under the water, trying to ignore Scott’s staring until she finally breaks, dropping the soap and shorts in the sink. “What.”

 

“Is something going on between you and Isaac?”

 

Straight to the point then.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles groans. She turns off the sink and leans against the yellowed laminate countertop. “He’s just a horny wolf boy who can’t resist my womanly charms.”

 

Scott scoffs, earning himself a wet punch in the chest. Except this time he actually flinches, and it occurs to Stiles that she can no longer hit up on Scott because she could actually hurt him.

 

“Swallowing a popsicle is not womanly charm.”

 

“Would it have elicited the same reaction were I still a dude?” Scott is at a loss for words, groaning as Stiles _hmph_ s. “Womanly charm.” When Stiles feels satisfies with the slightly lighter pink blob, she bends over and puts the damp shorts back on. Scott’s face blanks for a second after no doubt realising Stiles had been pants-less their entire conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter has whore content


	5. Bullets

Stiles exits the dressing room once more, pulling down at the front of the too-short shorts. She looks like a bimbo, and while Stiles did enjoy an issue or two of Playboy as a male, as a female she’s not so fond of the camel toe that keeps creeping up her twat.

 

Lydia has so graciously offered to buy her a small temporary wardrobe under the condition that Lydia gets the final say on everything. And since Stiles’ current financial position is ‘my Jeep needs to be euthanised’,she couldn’t say no.

 

Lydia bats her hands away from her crotch, forcing her to do a little spin. She hums in appraisal, pursing her lips in thought before a smile spreads across her face. “You look fantastic. Mon protégé.”

 

Stiles takes a moment before she protests, rolling a tiny purr in the back of her throat as she leans against the dressing room archway. “Lydia, you know I love it when you speak french to me.”

 

Lydia doesn’t reply, simply chucks the next outfit in her face. Rude.

 

••••

 

“You’re trying to get fucked, not go to Wingstop.”

 

“Why can’t I do both?” Stiles whines, shelving the red converse she’d found.

 

Lydia rolls her pretty green eyes, turning around to the size seven shelf behind her and picking a shoe. “Here try these.”

 

Stiles takes one look at the red six inch stilettos and chokes. She’s kind of excited to try them on, even though she’s intimidated, so she doesn’t outwardly object. She just pretends to be put out as she takes the box and sits down on a bench.

 

Sitting down, they’re amazing. They make her legs feel ten feet longer and force her toes to a point, which for some reason also feels good. It’s when she tries to stand that it all goes to hell. One second, she’s upright, and the next, she’s twisted her ankle and fallen ass over tea kettle onto the store’s hardwood floor with a clatter and a thud.

 

“I don’t know how you did that.” Lydia is staring down at her unsympathetically, lips pursed to show just how unimpressed she truly is.

 

“Maybe it’s the–“ Stiles rights herself, hissing in pain as her ankle quickly mends itself, “– goddamn stilts, Lydia.”

 

“How about wedges?”

 

••••

 

Stiles waddles around her room that night in her brand new pair of high heels. They’re black and have these fat leather straps that keep her feet secure and in place. She doesn’t think she’s half bad. Besides all of the graceless clomping, she hasn’t fallen yet, which must be a sign she’s learning.

 

Stiles knows she’s supposed to be more agile than this, but it’s not just kicking in like it did for Scott. It’s like she can feel all of her potential bubbling under the surface, but she has to consciously access it or else be in a strenuous situation for instinct to take over. It sucks balls, but she literally has no one to guide her. It’s so fucking frustrating.

 

“What on Earth are you doing?”

 

Stiles screams a little, once again toppling into a heap on the floor, flailing arms doing little to help the situation. She glares up at Derek, pulling on the edge of the bed to help herself up. At least she didn’t pull anything like last time.

 

“Is this becoming a daily occurrence now that I have tits?”

 

“We need to keep a closer eye on you.”

 

Stiles deflates as Derek completely bypasses her comment and gets straight to the point. Typical sourwolf. “Why? I thought we determined I’m just a pest.”

 

“ _You_ are. We can’t say the same about the thing that turned you.”

 

His lip lifts in the shadow of a smirk as Stiles rolls her eyes at his little _attempt_  at humour. Dick.

 

“Well it hasn’t called me out into the night to kill yet, so I think we’re good.”

 

Derek rolls his eyes at her little jab, walking over to her desk chair and sitting down once again. He crosses his arms, and settles into the cushion.

 

Stiles lips part as realisation sets in. “No.”

 

“No....”

 

“ _No, Derek._ You aren’t watching me like some sort of guard dog!” They both wince at her semi-inappropriate reference. “I’m a big bo- girl! I can take care of myself!”

 

Derek just pulls out his phone, shooting off a text before pocketing it again.

 

“Why can’t it be Scott?”

 

“He’s unreliable. He’ll jet off at the first chance of getting his dick wet.”

 

Stiles’ inner voice gasps a little at Derek’s language. While he is prone to cursing, he’s usually a little more reserved about sex-related topics. It’s weird to hear him say “dick” when he’s not telling Isaac to leave Stiles alone.

 

“Oh.” Stiles kicks off the heals and crawls into her bed, staring at Derek. “So are you just gonna sit there and stare at me all night?”

 

Derek doesn’t respond, continuing to stare.

 

“So is that a yes to staring at me like a creep?”

 

“This is for your own good.”

 

“It’s an invasion of privacy! I was fine last night and the night before.” Derek raises his eyebrows at her. “Oh my god you were watching me. You didn’t see me–“

 

“No,” Derek replies, cutting her off before she can finish the question.

 

“I’m gonna be really pissed if you saw Allison hold me down while Lydia waxed my fucking vagina.”

 

Derek sighs, rubbing his temple. “I’m not some creep who preys on seventeen year olds.”

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

His eyes flash red at her in an obvious and tired attempt at a scare tactic. She flashes her green eyes back at him, smiling widely.

 

“I’m like, the Malfoy to your Potter.”

 

“The who?”

 

“You know. Harry Potter?” Stiles eyes widen comically as she sucks in a huge gasp. “You haven’t read the books? Seen the movies?! Not seeing the movies at this point is just like, laziness.”

 

“Sorry, I was a little preoccupied by my house burning down with my family inside.”

 

Stiles face goes uneasy before Derek quirks a smile. Okay, he got her. Ha ha. That was mean. And inappropriate.

 

“We have to watch all the movies. If not for the culture, then for the homoerotic subtext.”

 

Stiles hurries over to her desk, moving around Derek as she grabs her laptop and charger and speaker. She sets everything up on her bed, patting the spot next to her as she types “harry potter free online” into the search bar. Maybe if Warner Brothers wasn’t such a bitch and put the movies on a reasonable streaming site, she wouldn’t have to resort to this.

 

It takes a moment before Derek tentatively sinks onto her bed, sitting straight up instead of leaning against the headboard like a normal person. Stiles pushes him back slowly, laughing as he growls at her. A year ago, she would have been terrified of that noise.

 

“Here we go.”

 

••••

 

Stiles sniffles in confusion as she’s shaken awake. Foot prints cover the marauder’s map on the screen, and she groans pathetically as she realises she’s slept through the second half of the Prisoner of Azkaban. She groggily sits up and grabs her laptop, setting it on the beside table before turning back over and snuggling up against Derek’s arm again.

 

“Uh-“

 

Stiles sloppily places a finger over his lips with her eyes still closed, missing and actually hitting his cheek. “Shshshh. We sleep.”

 

That’s the last thing she remembers before waking up to sunlight, a heavy arm hooked over her waist, holding her securely in place. She decides to take advantage of the situation because it’s _Derek Hale_ , and she deserves this after the last three days she’s had. She snuggles back against his chest, getting nice and cozy until something pokes her lower back.

 

Stiles freezes, eyes shooting wide as Derek groans in his sleep, arm tightening around her body. She considers waking him up, but she doesn’t want to deal with the awkward aftermath. Maybe she can just go back to sleep and wait until he wakes up first and bounces.

 

Her plan is quickly thwarted as Derek’s hips rock up into her back, Stiles forcing herself to hold back a scream. Of shock, frustration, or excitement? She doesn’t know. Pretty much the only thing she can focus on is the steady rhythm Derek has established against her back. If this is his stroke game when he’s asleep....

 

Stiles’ train of thought is broken off as Derek makes some breathy noise in her ear that just immediately soaks her down to the bare skin of her thighs underneath her boxers. “Oh my god,” Stiles mouths, looking up at the wall behind her bed, mind asking if this is actually real life.

 

And, oh yeah, it definitely is, she realises when a hand creeps down her stomach. He can’t quite get his hand between her legs with the way they’re lying but his fingers motion out something against the area just above that makes her internally agonise over the morality of lifting her leg just slightly so he could get at it.

 

She squeezes her eyes shut, biting her lip to prevent any unwanted noises from slipping out. Thankfully, she doesn’t have to make the decision on whether to wake him up or not because his hands stills suddenly, body going rigid against her back. He knows she’s awake, and for the first time ever she can sense the embarrassment and arousal rolling off him in waves like he can off her. And that just makes everything so much easier for Stiles when she bites the bullet and whispers, “Don’t stop.”

 

His hand slides back up her stomach and thank fucking christ Derek’s hand dips back down into her boxers after a moment of heavy breathing. She might’ve cried if it hadn’t worked. Fuck, she might cry now as his hand properly cups her with no obstruction, nothing between the rough pads of his fingers and her hole, middle finger circling it before sliding back up and–

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles curses loudly as she sees stars. Now she really does believe in the powers of the clitoris. She’ll never doubt her womanhood again. This is _awesome_.

 

His first two fingers rub slow circles into her, the building pressure of his fingers driving her absolutely nuts. Derek knows what he’s doing. Now she understands why Kate and Jennifer obsessed over him. She doesn’t even noticed she‘s making these soft little noises until the pressure is taken away and his wet fingertips are prodding at her lips.

 

And like, Stiles has seen this in porn before. She knows to open her mouth and wrap her lips around his fingers, suck on them until he growls lowly into her ear.

 

One second she’s on her side and the next she’s looking up into Derek’s red eyes as his figure hovers over her. It’s basic instinct taking over when she lifts her chin, baring her slender neck to him as she arches up into his body.

 

Derek’s composure cracks a little more, then, head diving down next to hers as he nips at and licks her neck. He’s struggling not to go that ‘push you face down into the dirt while I fuck you until you’re screaming for help’ kind of primal on her. She wouldn’t mind if he did.

 

But not for her first time. She’s a masochist, not insane.

 

Stiles pulls at his jacket, feeling victorious as he sits back on his haunches and not only sheds his coat but the faded red henley underneath. Even though she’s seen him shirtless a million times, she can’t stop herself from running her fingers down his happy trail, finger dipping just slightly beneath the waistband of his jeans and underwear as she ghosts her finger back and forth across the sensitive skin. His abs tense under her finger, jaw clenching when her other hand reaches up and pops the button on his jeans.

 

And it feels... odd. You would think with the sizeable portion of the last four years that guy-Stiles spent fucking his hand, girl-Stiles wouldn’t be so surprised at how heavy Derek’s dick feels in her grip when she pulls it out and starts stroking it slowly with both her hands.

 

Because he’s huge. Of course he is. He’s Derek. Why wouldn’t he be hung like a fucking porn star?

 

Stiles snaps out of her trance like stare then, flicking her eyes up to peek at Derek’s face. Her breath catches as she finds him staring intently at her face, eyes boring into hers like he’s searching for something. Stiles doesn’t get the chance to ask what because his hand not supporting his body over hers grabs her wrist, stilling her movements.

 

Stiles panics. On the inside, wondering if she’s done something he didn’t like or if he finally remembered she’s a minor. And on the outside too, blurting out a startled “Did I fuck it up?”

 

Derek doesn’t answer her, instead moving down her body and– oh. _Oh._

 

“Or we could do this,” Stiles nods desperately, lifting her hips so he can slide her boxers off. And now her pussy is out. Great.

 

Then Derek does this thing. This really weird thing where he ducks down between her legs and inhales deeply. It must be a werewolf thing. It _better_ be a werewolf thing.

 

Please, god, let it be a werewolf thing. Don’t let him be a creep.

 

But then he flattens his tongue against her clit and Stiles actually yelps, an embarrassingly high whine following immediately after. Her hands go to his hair automatically. It’s really soft. She always thought it would feel coarser between her fingers, but it’s so soft like clouds.

 

Then, he’s eating her out in the most literal sense of the phrase that doesn’t involve cannibalism, his tongue attacking her cunt like it’s dripping sugar. Stiles thinks she’s going to bite a hole in her lip trying to hold in the noises that escape only as little whimpers. Derek’s hands are grasping her thighs tightly, claws just barely piercing into her exposed skin as her legs fight to clamp around his head.

 

His beard scratches her raw where he places filthy, open mouthed kisses against her clit, tongue swirling clockwise and counterclockwise before he pulls off with a suck and repeats it all over again.

 

Finally he releases her legs, thighs clamping around his head as her back arches off the bed. And then she’s coming, a flood of nonsensical pleas spilling out of her mouth as his tongue continues to assault her clit until she’s whining and oversensitive. She’s definitely gonna have ‘stache rash.

 

Unless it heals. Which it should, shouldn’t it?

 

Stiles doesn’t know and she doesn’t fucking care because she’s pulling Derek up by his hair, connecting their mouths in probably the most disgusting kiss she’s ever had, the taste of her pussy sour on her tastebuds. But she doesn’t pull away until she’s finessed Derek onto his back, a coy smile playing at her lips when she finally pulls away to look him in the eyes.

 

There is no way she’s missing the chance to suck his dick. Guy-Stiles doesn’t have a gag reflex. Let’s see if girl-Stiles can say the same.

 

Stiles takes her sweet little time, licking her way down Derek’s chest and abs in way that she’s only daydreamed about several hundred times. His muscles feel like actual stone as they tense and relax under her. God, she loves werewolf bodies.

 

“‘M gonna suck your dick.”

 

“You don’t have to.”

 

Stiles looks up at Derek, a smug smile spreading across her lips at the sight of him completely disheveled among her pillows. His hair is wild from being pulled, lips swollen and pink, and his eyes linger on her fingers splayed just above his open zipper in a way that says ‘If I don’t cum in the next 15 minutes, I’m going to murder something’.

 

Stiles just shakes her head at him and pulls his jeans down a bit so that she can pull him all the way out. He’s uncut, which isn’t a surprise. Werewolves don’t really seem like the type for circumcision, which is oh-thefuck-kay with Stiles because that means it’s gonna be ten times easier to get him off. Stiles knows her way around a foreskin.

 

Stiles pulls it back, spitting on the pink tip of his penis. She releases his dick and licks her hand before wrapping back around it and tugging a few times. Derek groans loudly overhead so she pinches him in the side.

 

“Be fucking quiet,” Stiles hisses before ducking her head down to take one of his balls in her mouth. He’s oddly hairless for a werewolf. Almost like he obsessively manscapes which Stiles wouldn’t put past him. He’s so vain.

 

She jerks him lazily as she licks and sucks on his balls. He’s fully hard and drooling precum by the time she pulls off his nuts and sits up on the bed. Derek’s eyes are screwed shut which makes it all the more rewarding when she suddenly envelops the head of his penis with her mouth on a downstroke. His eyes burst open, a frightening red that fades to blue. Stiles keeps her eyes locked on his as she opens her throat so his dick slides easily past the muscles that constrict around his dick like a vice once her lips are wrapped around the base of his dick. Stiles has been testing herself with bananas and popsicles and anything vaguely dick shaped for years now. She pulls back up slowly, lips dragging against the skin of his dick.

 

“You’ve done this,” Derek breathes out, her tongue drawing leisurely circles around the head of his dick.

 

She forgoes answering him, tightening her lips around him to form a suction as she bobs her head up and down, her hand using the excess saliva dripping from her mouth to slick the half of his cock that’s not in her mouth. She works him off like this, tongue swirling in the opposite direction of her twisting grip, until he’s panting, one of his hands palming the back of her head and guiding her movements. Stiles drops down on his dick suddenly, deep throating him again, but only for a second before he’s pulling her off by her hair, flipping her onto her back roughly. He presses one hand to her collarbone, pinning her to the bed as his other hand strips his dick roughly over her stomach. In a matter of seconds, he’s shooting splashes of hot cum onto her skin.

 

The force behind his jizz is almost bruising, and the spurts of liquid just keep coming until her entire stomach is covered with a layer of milky white cum that’s running down her sides and pooling on the sheets beneath her.

 

“Holy shit,” Stiles gasps, running her fingers through the absurd amount of splooge on her tummy. Derek moves off of her, and she’s so preoccupied playing in the semen that she doesn’t even realise she’s alone until she looks up again and he’s vanished.

 

Classic Derek move.

 

Stiles only feels the slightest twinge of sadness at being ditched before she’s shovelling a scoop of cum into her mouth experimentally.

 

••••

 

Scott puts down his controller when Stiles plops down on his bedroom floor next to him. He has this look on his face, like he’s debating saying something.

 

Isaac just raises his eyebrows, looking between the both of them. “Are you gonna say it or do I need to?” Scott stays silent, glaring down at his controller.

 

“Say what?”

 

“You smell like Derek.”

 

Stiles feels her heart stutter, a dead giveaway, but she prolongs the inevitable. “He was playing watch dog for me last night.”

 

“Let me rephrase. You smell like Derek and _semen_.”

 

She can’t help it; a huge smile breaks across her face, Scott groaning as Isaac smirks. For some reason, Isaac is more tolerant of girl-Stiles. That, or he’s fond of the boobs.

 

“He didn’t fuck me, but we got _real_  close. He’s _huge_. If I had a gag reflex, I would have blown chunks.”

 

Isaac’s smile slowly fades as she continues to talk.

 

“I don’t know if it’s like, a werewolf thing, but his cum felt like fucking bullets. Is that’s how yours is? Anyway, ate me out. Blew him. Busted on my stomach. Finito. It was _awesome_.”

 

“Let me kill her please.”

 

Scott shakes his head, and keeps on shaking his head until he finally stands up and puts his hands up, retreating into his hallway. He doesn’t stop until he’s downstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter was about 1400 words longer than I meant it to be but whatever. I suck at writing smut so can I get some honest feedback about the whore content?


	6. The First Time

Stiles is in the library alone when it happens. She’s flipping through some contrived book of mythology, heart racing from the adderall. Sometimes when she takes her medicine, it literally feels like she’s gonna fly away, or at least her lungs are going to exit her body forcefully. Sometimes she feels like she could kill a man. She won’t. 

 

But it feels like it.

 

She’s in the middle of one hell of a run-on sentence when she hears the click. She looks back at the door just as the light on the keycard entry turns from green back to red.

 

“Scott?”

 

Silence is her only answer.

 

“Lydia? Isaac? Allison?”

 

Stiles feels something brush past her, and she immediately goes into full defence mode. She’s always wondered why Scott jumps on top of everything when he’s fighting, but now she realises why as she kneels on the table, scanning the room with emerald green eyes. Higher ground. Better vantage point. Well, for someone with keener senses who actually knows how to fight in hand to hand combat.

 

Stiles yelps as she’s yanked off the table by her hair, writhing on the ground after she hits her spine. She hears a hiss, brown eyes flying open in a panic. She can’t see anything, but she can feel her body being dragged across the floor.

 

It’s a djinn, she realises a second too late. She can’t see them. And nobody’s around to save her. Ain’t this some fucking _shit_.

 

Stiles grapples at the edge of a book case, screaming as loudly as possible. That’s something she’s heard girls are supposed to do when... She cuts off her train of thought, bringing herself back to the present where something is trying to _KILL HER_.

 

She screams one last time before her claws jut out, stabbing whatever it is that has a hold of her. Stiles takes the opportunity to scramble away from it, eyes blowing wide as she sees a blurry blue outline charging at her. Right. Nymph eyes.

 

“Shitshitshit,” Stiles gasps, jumping to her feet as she runs behind a bookcase, but it chases her so she keeps running circles around the bookcase until she hears a shout in another language. It’s right behind her, so she does what any sane person would do, and climbs the shelves.

 

She breathes out a sigh of relief as she leans over with her hands on her knees atop the hardwood, panting. That is, until the bookcase begins to shake. It’s like a cliche scene in a movie, the bookcase falls, the row of them toppling onto one another like dominoes until the wall catches them with a crash.

 

Stiles watches the whole thing go down, glad she’s not a part of that. Actually–

 

Stiles slowly looks down, gasping shakily as she sees the floor is say.... TEN FUCKING FEET BELOW WHERE’S SHE HOVERING BECAUSE OH YEAH SHE’S A FUCKING FAIRY.

 

The fluttering sensation between her shoulder blades is foreign. She spots the djinn just below her, waiting. 

 

“Haha, you bitch!” Stiles taunts, laughing. She blows a raspberry at it, nose wrinkling as she cackles meanly.

 

“Stiles!” 

 

She looks up. “Scott! Bout goddamn time!”

 

“You’re flying!”

 

“Yeah, it’s pretty sweet ri–“ Horror fills her eyes as she can feel herself shift back into human form, falling through the air at breakneck speed. She lands with a sickening crack on top of the djinn.

 

When she looks down, it’s fully visible, blue skin bleeding grey. She scrambles off of it, backing off in terror. She half expects it to reconstitute itself, bones snapping into place as it rises to its feet as she’s seen far too many magical creatures do before. But it doesn’t. It just lays there. Lifeless.

 

“Stiles! Are you okay?”

 

Stiles just stares at the body, Scott a million miles away. She just killed something. Someone. For the first time.

 

••••

 

She’s surprisingly... okay with it. Once she gets the silvery blood washed off of her, she feels reborn in an inexplicable way. Like a new person. Who has killed some body. And is okay with it. She’s fine.

 

Scott is staying with her tonight. He won’t say it, but he doesn’t exactly approve of her non-relationship with Derek. Not that it matters. Derek has completely ghosted her since jizzing across her tummy.

 

She’s only a little miffed about that, but at least she has the memory to last her through her next seventeen year dry spell.

 

“A trillion lions versus the sun. Go.”

 

“Dude, the lions.”

 

Stiles laughs into Scott’s side. The good thing about being a girl is everyone wants to protect and cuddle you, and Stiles has always been the cuddling type.

 

“Scott. No.”

 

“They could probably cover the surface of the sun and put it out.”

 

“Scott. _No._  They couldn’t. They couldn’t even get _close_  to the sun before they vaporised.”

 

Stiles perks up as her dad opens the door to her room. His eyes scan their position on the bed, eyebrows raising. “Do I need to have a certain... talk with you two?”

 

“About how that will never happen in a million years not even if we were the last two human beings on the planet and our species depended on us for repopulation? Nah, I think we’re good.”

 

“Nice to know.” Her dad leaves out of the house, entirely unaware of what a hellish afternoon his daughter has had. And it’s going to stay that way.

 

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Stiles nods, laying back down on his chest. Allison can suck her shiny new clit. She needs affection right now.

 

“I didn’t think that would be how my first kill went down, but uh...”

 

“Your ‘first kill’?” Scott asks, and she can hear his pulse jump a bit.

 

“Yeah, like I always _assumed_ –“

 

“That you would kill someone?!”

 

“Eventually! Like, we can’t be battling all this evil shit and not expect to kill or get killed! At some point, that’s a choice we’re all gonna have to make!”

 

“Not me. I don’t want to kill anyone. Or anything. Ever.”

 

“Neither do– did I. And I especially didn’t want to do it by crushing it with my big fat ass.”

 

“Your ass isn’t fat.”

 

Pulse jump. “You’re lying,” Stiles grumbles, trying to stifle a laugh.

 

“Not l-like–“

 

“It’s cool. I know I have a smokin bod now. Or at least Lydia says so. And Derek didn’t seem to have any problems with it.”

 

Stiles yelps as Scott pushes her off the edge of her bed.

 

++++

 

“Please, for the love of god, just text him.”

 

Stiles holds the phone between her face and shoulder as she buttons a miniskirt that Lydia has gotten her. It’s wispy and black kind of like the dress from her first day, but without the flowers. 

 

“Hmm.... No.” Now Stiles understands why Lydia does this all the time. It’s fun denying people the things they want for your own enjoyment. That’s concerning. Maybe she needs to stop hanging out with Lydia, actually.

 

“He’s distraught.”

 

“Well,” Stiles starts, grabbing the phone as she adjusts her boobs in the skin tight black tank top. “He did almost fuck a seventeen year old high school student.” She cackles, knowing Derek is probably eaves dropping on their conversation. Her suspicion is confirmed as she hears a loud crash in the background like a chair being thrown.

 

“Was that necessary?”

 

“No, but it was funny.”

 

“Just come over.”

 

“Gas is expensive.”

 

“I’ll drag your smart ass out of the house myself.”

 

“See you in an hour.”

 

••••

 

Stiles pulls up to the residence, Allison and Lydia following in their car. There’s no way in hell she’s showing up alone to a werewolf lair where one of the wolves wants to fuck her and the other one wants to kill her. She’s not sure who is which one at this point. 

 

As always, Peter greets them at the door, rolling his eyes when Lydia and Allison breeze past him.

 

“Brought your little clique, did you?”

 

“Backup.”

 

Peter smirks, closing the door behind them. He looks almost proud. Stiles hasn’t exactly told Lydia and Allison what happened, but Allison seems to have this look on her face like she knows _something_  is up.

 

Stiles bypasses all of the other rooms. She can vaguely sense where Derek is, and if she’s right he’s sitting on his bed with his head in his hands, worrying himself to death.

 

“Dude, pathetic.”

 

Derek lifts his head, making eye contact for a millisecond before he darts into his bathroom and shuts the door before Stiles can stop him.

 

“Are you serious?!” Stiles exclaims at the door. She bangs on it, easing up as she realises she’s actually leaving dents in it. Enhanced strength and all that. “It’s not- come out! I’m not talking to a door.”

 

Derek makes no sound on the other side of the door other than his breathing.

 

“Kay then, I guess I’m talking to a door, uhhh... how have you been? Sorry, for beating the shit out of you just now. I’m sure you get slammed around enough by grumpy wolf.”

 

The door swings open then, Derek scowling at her. “You’re not funny.”

 

“The rest of the world begs to differ.”

 

“No we don’t,” Stiles hears faintly in another room, and fuck Peter. She’s hilarious.

 

“Do you not understand how serious this is? I could go to prison.”

 

“Do you not understand that my dad is the Sheriff?”

 

Derek widens his eyes at her, exasperation clear in his voice. “That’s not any better! In fact, that’s much worse!”

 

“Well as of now the only people who could even snitch are Scott, Isaac, and Peter— I’m assuming you told him; even if you didn’t, he knows— so if we can keep it that way, then we’re peaches. As for the living with yourself part, I can’t help you there.”

 

Derek scowls at Stiles, promptly kicking her out of his room and slamming the door in her face.

 

“Great talk! See you tonight!” Stiles cheers into the door, deflating as she walks away. That was stressful and awkward, which are unfortunately the two states she resonates between.

 

••••

 

Sadly, Derek doesn’t show up to her house, which Stiles wouldn’t be so offended by had he not sent _Peter_  in his place.

 

First of all, Peter is like the weakest wolf not-in-the-pack. He’s an omega. If anything comes for her, he’s basically kaput.

 

Second of all, Derek doesn’t trust Peter with his laundry, so why does he trust him with her _life_? 

 

Then thirdly, and most importantly, HAS EVERYONE BUT HER FORGOTTEN THE TIME PETER KIDNAPPED HER TO DO HIS EVIL BIDDING WHILE HE WAS ON A MURDEROUS RAMPAGE? BECAUSE SHE REMEMBERS. VIVIDLY.

 

And yet there Peter stands, carefully analysing her two on going investigation boards. One is for the djinn, and the other is for her vagina. He examines the boards almost as if he can make sense of her tangled webs of red string and layers of photo-copied literature. If he can do that, it would be a first by anyone, even genius Lydia who refers to it as ‘chaos chaos’ when Stiles defends it against her scrutiny by saying it’s ‘organised chaos’.

 

The investigations are connected by a lone red string, which Peter promptly follows to the ‘Surprise Vagina’ side of the board.

 

“Hera and Tiresias. Interesting.”

 

Stiles’ insatiable curiosity outweighs her desire to give him the silent treatment, so she breaks. “Do you think that has any relevance?”

 

Peter glances at her before turning back to the board. “The possibility is far higher for this theory than for a djinn being able to transform a human and keep them transformed. Their magic is party tricks at best.”

 

“You’re really confident in your abilities for someone who’s already been killed once.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes at her distasteful joke (she wasn’t joking), shaking his head. He’s fighting back a smile though. Nobody can resist her for long. “Shall I kill you and see how long it takes _you_  to resurrect yourself?”

 

“Be my guest. Pun not intended.”

 

“Pun?”

 

“Be my guest? Beauty and the Beast? He’s a big hairy beast. You’re– You _were_  a big hairy beast. C’mon, man, it’s a Disney classic! Where have you been the last twenty years?!— Not counting the ones you spent, ya know... comatose.”

 

Peter flexes his hands, moving away from her cork board tensely. “Why did I agree to this?”

 

“Because I’m quirky and adorable?” Stiles supplies with a cheeky smile, leaning back against her desk. She should really be drawing lines and setting boundaries with Peter right now, but it’s in her nature to flirt with anyone who will give her the time of day. It was a much more frequently humiliating trait when she wasn’t a girl and also desirable.

 

“No, I’m fairly certain it was blackmail.”

 

“He find out about the vag pic and threaten to turn you in?”

 

“Firstly, no. No one will ever know, because if they do know then they’ll be dead. Secondly, it’s none of your business.”

 

“That’s childish, Peter. I’ve already shown you all of _my_  business.” Stiles can’t stop the devious smirk from stretching across her face.

 

“You need to learn control.”

 

“Then teach me.”

 

Stiles in on the ground in an instant, her face smushed into the dusty hardwood as Peter digs his knee into her back, twisting her arm roughly. She yelps in pain, the colours around her dimming back to normal. She hadn’t even noticed her eyes turn.

 

“Lesson one: pain is an anchor.”

 

Stiles just groans painfully in response.

 

“You began shifting mid-conversation. That can’t happen.” He finally releases her arm, but keeps his knee in her back. “You’re a nymph. Your claws are your defence. Your weapon is seduction.”

 

“So what, I’m gonna try to go all Jennifer’s Body on people now?!”

 

“You’re not dangerous to _me_ ,” Peter barrels on, probably in order to bypass the fact that he doesn’t get her reference. “But you’re dangerous to humans. Other werewolves even.”

 

“Oh yeah? And what makes you so impervious to my womanly charms?”

 

“I’m gay.”

 

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Stiles scoffs into the floor, craning her neck to look over her shoulder, trying to act casual as if she knew that the whole time. “But if it’s my super power, shouldn’t everyone want to fuck me?”

 

“You’re not the first nor are you the last seductive creature I’m ever going to come across. I’ve had practise.” He finally lets his knee off her back, standing up to unnecessarily brush himself off. He wasn’t the one pinned to the floor after all.

 

“I’m so unprepared for this. Why couldn’t I have just been a werewolf?”

 

“Hey, I offered.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took a long time I went on vacation n all that. anyway I feel like this was long enough to make up for it maybe idk idk. thanks for all the comments y'all left <3
> 
> also I really liked writing peter/stiles banter. I ship it and no one can stop me


	7. The Boys Are Back In Town

“Stop fidgeting.”

 

“I’m _nervous_ ,” Stiles stresses, glaring at Derek. She’s sitting in the passenger seat of his Camaro. In light of recent technical difficulties, the Jeep had to be temporarily decommissioned. They’re sitting in front of some djinn den (it’s actually some Arabic word Stiles can’t spell or pronounce yet but djinn den has a certain ring to it). So now they’re parked in front of a warehouse in the industrial district stalking these assholes.

 

Peter, the chaotic evil pain in the ass he is, suggested Stiles accompany Derek on his recon mission to practise maintaining her partially shifted form and also to practise honing in on certain stimuli. As Stiles tends to get distracted, she usually overcompensates by hyper focusing on one particular detail or, in this case, sense. It’s more of a curse than a blessing, but Stiles supposes she would be totally OP if she didn’t have ADHD. Imagine the knowledge she would have if she could just sit still and read books like a normal human being. Lydia might actually have some competition in the brains department.

 

Anyway, Derek is in full broody wolf mode and completely unresponsive to her cries for attention which come in the form of sporadic, incessant rambling about the abandoned train station a few blocks down. If Stiles could ever find a time when the people around her weren’t being brutally murdered, she would go explore the resting train cars. Unfortunately, she didn’t get to fuck around in there while Derek was squatting there. Derek, however, does not seem to be intrigued by the shady circumstances in which the station was shut down suddenly about ten years back. No, he just looks like he wants to be anywhere else, preferably inside the warehouse ripping throats out.

 

“Do you think Dereka is a real name?” Stiles asks mid-sentence, surprising even herself. She had been internally panicking which led to the thought that none of this would be a problem if she wasn’t a girl which led to what would Derek do if he was suddenly a girl which led to what if Derek was a girl which led to—

 

“Dereka?”

 

“You know. Like Erica–“ Stiles winces at the name but barrels on in her usual fashion. “– but with a D.”

 

“I... guess.”

 

“Should I start going by a girl name? Like Stella or Micky or something cutesy?”

 

“Micky?”

 

“Like short for my name. My... other name.” Stiles pauses dramatically, but Derek only side eyes her. She raises a disbelieving eyebrow at the confused look on Derek’s face. “You don’t really think my parents named me Stiles Stilinski, do you?” she deadpans.

 

“I don’t know. Never thought about it.”

 

It goes quiet again, and for once Stiles is thankful Derek doesn’t probe her for her name. She would hate for him to think of it every time he looked at her. It truly is god awful. Stiles makes a mental note to tell Scott if she dies not to put even the letter M on her headstone. She’ll haunt everyone if they besmirch her memory like that.

 

“Get down!”

 

Stiles doesn’t have the time to react before Derek is snatching her down by the back the of her neck. His breath in her face smells like Doritos and orange juice. She’ll be having a word with him about his diet when their lives aren’t in imminent danger.

 

Derek must see her lips getting ready to open because he pushes a finger against her lips. And because Stiles has absolutely no sense of self preservation lately, she envelops his finger with her mouth, a sly look in her green eyes. For a second, she thinks he might pass out, especially with the way his heart rate spikes violently.

 

She can clearly see his conflict of wanting to ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing but knowing he can’t make noise. She wishes she felt worse about trapping him like this, but she really _really_  doesn’t.

 

She bites down on his fingers playfully, smiling up at him with a filthy look in her eyes that are most definitely green now. His eyes flash bright red for a second, and even though hearing is her weakest sense, the sound of his heart pounding is clear in her ears. She lets his finger fall out of her mouth, moving in for the kill.

 

And she would’ve gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for those meddling djinn.

 

Stiles releases an undignified shriek, scrambling backwards in her seat when a djinn lands on the hood of the car with a crash. Derek, on the other hand, does the reasonable thing and shifts into reverse, doing a donut in the parking lot to knock the djinn off and speeding away.

 

“That went well.”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

••••

 

“He literally wants to bone me so bad,” Stiles says to announce her arrival as she bursts into Isaac’s room in Scott’s house.

 

Isaac is sitting in the arm chair, reading a book with another one of his hideous scarves wrapped around his throat. “Uh, Scott’s not-“

 

“I know. Scott’s with Allison, but you’re the only other person who knows Derek and I fladoodled, and I need to talk about it.”

 

“Peter knows.”

 

“Peter tried to kill us.”

 

“Fair enough. What’s up?”

 

Stiles collapses on his bed, letting out a huge sigh. “Derek’s being a stubborn piece of shit and wants to obey the law instead of painting my underage walls with his goo or whatever. And that would be fine, if every time I looked at him it didn’t feel like a taser to the uterus. It’s _annoying_. Like, I’ve already tasted your cum. There’s no going back— Not that he knows that I tasted his cum. I did it after he freaked out and left. It tasted a lot like my jizz when I was a guy, _anyway_ -“

 

“Get out.”

 

“No, please. I need someone to talk to.”

 

“This is disgusting.”

 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll keep it PG.” Isaac seems to be satiated for the time being, so Stiles continues while attempting to censor herself. “Ummmm.....” She curses her attention span before it all comes back to her. “Oh yeah! Like I was saying, I feel like he’s just really dwelling on this whole age of consent thing as if there aren’t plenty of states where sixteen is legal.”

 

“Maybe you should tell him that.”

 

“See, that’s the problem. Because every time I’m around him, I just forget logic and try to suck his dick.”

 

“Okay, leave for real this time. Get out.”

 

••••

 

Stiles eyes flutter open to the sight of dust particles swirling around in filtered light. Everything looks different. More in focus. Calmer.

 

Normal.

 

She sits up, stretching her arms, then kicks her legs over the side of the bed. And her feet. Are. Hideous. God, she hopes they haven’t looked like this the whole time. They’re still painted a shiny lavender, but fuck if they don’t look massive and bony.

 

When she gets the urge to scratch her balls, that’s when she knows something’s amiss. She gallops down the hall and slides into the bathroom, eyes bugging out as they take in her new— _old_ — appearance.

 

She’s a he again.

 

Stiles fist pumps wildly, running back to his room to call Scott.

 

“Is everything okay?”

 

“Everything is better than okay, Scottie boy. I woke up with all my bits back in order.”

 

“That’s great! We should celebrate.”

 

“And then probably figure out why I’m suddenly a dude again.”

 

“Okay, I’ll meet you at Lydia’s in an hour.”

 

Stiles says goodbye and hangs up. He collapses on his bed, praising whatever deity has helped him escape from that hellbody. Girl Stiles is so fucking grating, and that wouldn’t be a problem if she didn’t have boundless amounts of energy with which to ruin his whole fucking life. Stiles groans as he remembers he sucked Derek’s fingers like two days ago.

 

It’s almost like she’s the anti of him. Loud, abrasive.... horrifyingly vulgar. Hot.

 

Stiles feels weird thinking that about himself, but now that he can objectively observe all the ridiculous selfies he has in his camera roll, he realises girl Stiles is smokin’. And an _asshole_.

 

Stiles flicks his phone onto his bed, going to the bathroom so he can look semi-presentable when he no doubt has to confront Derek later on.

 

••••

 

When Stiles gets to Lydia’s house, the redhead pounces on him, arms and legs wrapping around his body as she squeals. It’s so weird knowing that this is how Lydia is with her girlfriends. But he’s not a girl anymore. So it’s decidedly awkward as the girl he’s partially in love with buries her face in his neck and squeezes her knees against his sides. What is he supposed to do? Where does he put his hands? Dear god, please _PLEASE_  don’t let him get a boner. He almost misses when that wasn’t an issue.

 

Almost.

 

Lydia slides off him, smiling brightly. “Allison, Isaac, and Scott are out back. It’s really great to have you back to normal.”

 

“Thanks. It’s great to not be a manic sex pixie anymore.”

 

Lydia’s eyebrows furrow at his words. “Are you sure this is permanent? Let me see if that tattoo is still there.” She takes him by the face and tilts his head, and a strange feeling of deja vu overcomes him.

 

When Lydia sighs and purses her lips, he knows it’s still there. So whatever this is isn’t over yet.

 

Which majorly _sucks_.

 

He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow with boobs and the insatiable urge to say the word “splooge” in what’s supposed to be casual conversation. He also doesn’t want to randomly burst into flight ever again. It was as terrifying as it was awesome.

 

“Let’s hope it doesn’t mean anything. I can’t take another waxing, Lydia. I really, really can’t.”

 

Lydia loops her arm through his, leading him through her house with a curious look on her face. “Speaking of, is it still smooth down there?”

 

“As a baby’s bottom.”

 

When they step outside, Scott greets him from the pool where he’s treading water beside Allison who smiles at him.

 

Isaac, surprisingly, acknowledges his existence. “Thank god you’re back. No offence, but girl you overshares.”

 

Stiles scratches his head awkwardly. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

 

“Yeah, well I would over share too if I got statutoried by Derek. He’s delish.”

 

Everyone groans at Lydia, and for a brief moment in time it feels like everything is back to normal.

 

... Well, _their_  version of normal.

 

That lasts about two seconds. Not even twelve hours later, Stiles finds himself booking it through the industrial complex downtown. His Adidas sneakers slap against the pavement as he runs towards the sound of a howl. He recognises it as Scott. He slides to a halt in front of the storage unit where the sound no doubt came from. Peter appears at the other end of the alley, racing toward the door, already wolfed out.

 

“Break it down!” Stiles yells, confused as to why Peter is hesitating.

 

“Get back. That’s not a wolf. I know an imitation when I hear one.”

 

“There’s a djinn in there, isn’t there?”

 

Peter nods, then eyeing Stiles in confusion. “Your male anatomy’s back.”

 

“Yeah, we can talk about that later.”

 

“You still smell like a nymph.”

 

“ _Yeah, we can talk about that late_ r,” Stiles emphasises, waving his hands in the general direction of the orange storage unit.

 

“Well, shift then. You need to be able to see them.”

 

“I can’t! Let’s just do this!”

 

Peter shrugs then, charging at the door before Stiles can even open his mouth to countdown. It bows inward as he throws himself at it, then flies off as he charges once more.

 

He immediately grabs it by the throat, digging his claws in until the blue body slowly fades into reality, choking on its final breaths. Stiles cheers, the ‘fuck yeah’ cut short as something heavy hits him dead between the eyes. When he wakes up, head pounding, he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

 

The first thing he sees is two stark white eyes and a blue nose in front of his face. The thing squeals and jumps back. It’s... a girl? A djinn girl? A cute djinn girl.

 

Oh god dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't even noticed i hadn't updated this in a month. god i'm awful. anyways, how was it?


	8. Now Playing: I'm Blue - Eiffel 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I’m sorry I let another month go by without updating but I really have been writing on this shit. I added ANOTHER arc like I think I might have mentioned before, but this chapter ends the original one. Lowkey a point in this chapter is where I was gonna end it but I love this fic too much to quit it just yet.
> 
> Also there's no way I'm ending this before Stiles gets fucked

Stiles looks down at her boobs. This is the point at which she sees her wrists have been shackled to the wall that she’s propped against. “Who are you?”

 

The girl just stares at her.

 

“¿Hablas ingles?” Stiles tries. It’s the only other language besides English that she’s even close to being fluent in okay. She can only read in Portuguese, Italian, French, and just the smallest bit of Latin. She can also say ‘shark’ in German.

 

She, predictably, doesn’t answer so Stiles just leans back against the wall. She doesn’t know what she could possibly do to get out of this situation. Her little talon claw things can do shit all against the metal restraints, and flying isn’t really an option because she doesn’t know how to access that ability while chained with her back to a wall. The only only other thing she can do is fuck the girl and that’s-

 

Not a half bad idea.

 

_Her claws are her defence. Her weapon is seduction._

 

Stiles mentally bats Peter’s voice out of her mind before she assesses the girl in front of her. The girl looks... ehhh sixteenish. She’s probably way older. Djinn can live to be thousands of years old. Anyway, she can’t be much younger than Stiles. She has an okay rack herself. And really oddly pretty eyes. She kind of looks like a Draenei, something Stiles may or may not have jerked off to as a guy. It doesn’t really take a lot of work to get into it, because as Stiles stated before, _she_ ’s still into chicks, so she gets in the mood relatively quickly. Everything is a little bit clearer, colors more vivid, and Stiles knows her eyes are glowing green in the dimly lit dungeon.

 

Stiles stares the girl down, flicking her tongue up to play with the sharp point of her incisor. A dirty smile taking over her face. She turns on her nymph eyes, doing that thing where she narrows them and looks up through her lashes, blinking slowly.

 

“Come here,” Stiles says, and wow her voice has never sounded like that before. It’s low and velvety with just the right amount of commanding. The girl’s body language glosses over into something drooly and lovestruck, and she scoots forward across the floor on her knees from where she had fallen. Stiles coaxes her closer and closer until their noses touch.

 

“Such a pretty little thing,” Stiles coos, rubbing their noses together in an eskimo kiss. She can sense that the girl likes the full princess treatment, to be laid out on a fluffy bed, to have sweet nothings and saccharine praise whispered into every inch of her skin. Stiles is more than willing to do that, regardless of the fact that her skin is blue.

 

Fuck, girl Stiles is a whore.

 

Stiles presses a gentle kiss to the girl’s lips, then another one, slowly coaxing her lips open until she’s obscenely licking into the girl’s mouth, drawing out these cute little noises that Stiles definitely isn’t mentally filing away for later use.

 

“Safa!”

 

The girl is ripped away from her, her eyebrows shooting up when she’s suddenly snapped out of the trance.

 

The guards crowd around her, and Stiles doesn’t know if she’s relieved or terrified that they’re unchaining her from the wall and pulling her to her feet.

 

One of them with a really big forehead jerks her forward. “امشي.”

 

••••

 

Stiles is tossed to the floor, landing on her knees as the blindfold is ripped off. She blinks a couple times before the room comes into focus and _oh wow_  that’s unexpected.

 

She’s kneeled before an honest to god throne. And on top of that throne? A literal orgy. Of course, not a normal one. A writhing mass of blue, their silver blood and _other_  fluids coating the partakers in a reflective sheen. Stiles is pretty sure she’s sees a tentacle and horns and an _elephant’s trunk_. The sight is quickly filed into her Top Ten Most Horrifying Images.

 

Before she can get a proper sound out of her mouth, a broad figure emerges from the center of the mass, and he’s _huge_  in both height and dongage. His boner is just casually bobbing up and down in the air as his naked form descends the stairs. He... kind of looks like Thanos actually. But bluer. And covered in red tattoos. And oh wow that’s his dick in her face. Right there. In her face.

 

Stiles, against her best judgement, lets him grasp her face without snarling or nipping at him. He turns her head to the right and brushes her hair away from her neck with oddly gentle hands. He’s examining her tattoo. Then, he turns her face straight forward and looks her in the eyes. He says something to his guards, a command, and suddenly she’s being hauled away again, this time sans blindfold.

 

She takes this opportunity to try to map the place, which is ridiculous by the way. It’s covered in ornate silver fixtures and jewels and sculptures with dicks and fancy paintings with more dicks. Oh look, a titty mural. The guards lead her into a room, where a woman sits by a tub of water, awaiting orders.

 

One of the guards relays the message and suddenly her clothes are being cut off.

 

_Her clothes are being cut off._

 

“Woah woah! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

 

And the woman, to her surprise answers her. “Wash.”

 

Fucking finally. Someone who speaks English.

 

“Wash? Why?”

 

“Dirty.”

 

Stiles flattens her eyebrows at the deadpan response. “Why are you doing this to me?”

 

The woman stops replying, pushing Stiles up the steps and into the bath, which actually feels really fucking good. Would feel better without the shackles and impending sense of doom. But oh well. Prisoners can’t be choosers.

 

Stiles lets herself be washed, yelping only a little bit when the lady gets her fingers all up in her business. Like, all up in her business. Like, her asshole business.

 

Stiles realises with dread what’s going on. She’s being prepared for a railing. An ass railing possibly which is horrifying considering she hasn’t even had a front railing.Oh god, they’re going to take both her virginities. She’s going to lose them to blueberries with earrings.

 

And tentacles.

 

“Are they gonna fuck me with tentacles?”

 

“Probably. Stand up.”

 

Stiles stands and is engulfed by a huge fluffy towel. She’s quickly rushed to another room where two girls, who don’t speak English, dress her like the genie version of a sex slave, and were Stiles not in imminent danger, she would be fawning over herself in the mirror. The sheer, little red number really does suit her skin tone and frame. Her tits look insane. And the bottom... well it’s less of a bottom and more of a really long flowy see through skirt that has so many high slits cut around it, it’s as easy access as being completely naked.

 

It kind of reminds her of Jasmine in Return or Jafar except X rated and also she’s white. They even put a little veil thingy over her nose and mouth, and like rude. Her face isn’t that bad.

 

The next thing she knows, she’s standing in front of the throne again, Papa Big Dick standing in front of her with his disruptingly massive erection. He takes her by the arm and pulls her body close. And were Stiles up to getting split in half by a two foot long blue penis, she might actually be turned on. Because girl Stiles is fucking depraved and disgusting and- _oh_. Stiles gasps a little at the feeling of his massive hand on her back. It makes her feel small, easy to manipulate. And the nymph likes it.

 

Stiles bats her eyelashes at him, big green eyes going in for the kill as she tucks her bottom lip between her teeth and bites down softly. It definitely does the trick, the Big Guy’s other hand reaching up to hook his knuckle under her jaw gently. Even though he doesn’t have pupils, Stiles can tell he’s entranced by her charms.

 

He’s barely got a hand on her ass when a sharp howl pierces through the djinn den. Derek and Scott come bursting through the double doors, and Stiles takes the distraction of their entrance as an opportunity to yank her body out of the monster’s hands and race towards her friends. Isaac and Allison follow as back up, shielding Stiles as Scott’s descent on Papa Big Dick is intercepted by a wall of guards.

 

Then Derek does the hottest thing Stiles has ever seen. He continues forwards, leaping into the air and using Scott’s back as a springboard to do a flip over the whole line of infantry. The sexiness is amplified by his furious assault on the Big Guy. He’s not fucking around, claws slashing for his belly and jugular.

 

“Go for his dick!” Stiles shouts, as Isaac breaks the chains on her wrists. As soon as she’s freed, she whips out her claws running straight for the guard that had manhandled her so rudely with a slightly embarrassing war cry.

 

“Stiles!”

 

Stiles turns around just in time to see another guard charging at her with a whole ass sword. She zips into the air quickly, the guard stabbing his colleague by mistake.

 

“Yeah, that’s right, fucker! I can fly!” Stiles actually can’t fly. She hasn’t figured out how to move forward yet. She can just flutter in place for a couple minutes before falling on her ass.

 

Which is exactly what she does.

 

“Impressive,” Peter comments, coming literally out of nowhere, and Stiles can’t tell if it’s a genuine compliment or sarcasm. He guts the second guard quickly, silver blood spilling onto his forearms and shoes.

 

Allison, Isaac, and Scott seem to have everything else under control. It’s scary the way the three of them work in perfect harmony. The fight almost seems choreographed. Like a really cool action movie. Or maybe a tv show. They whittle the wall of guards down to only one, who tries to tuck tail and run, but Allison somehow lands an arrow in his invisible, retreating figure, the body materialising before it hits the ground.

 

All that’s left is Blueberry Thanos— and the naked members of his questionably specied fuck pile, but they’re still going at it like no tomorrow, so Stiles currently considers them a non-threat. A nasty, slimy, writhing non-threat.

 

The Jolly Blue Giant is covered in leaking gashes, but he refuses to back down under Derek’s relentless assault. All of the air leaves Stiles’ lungs when the giant fuck finally lands a hit on Derek, and the wolf goes flying across the floor. Scott and Isaac immediately lunge for him, but he levitates over them with a sick grin.

 

The fucker’s been bluffing the whole time. Waited until victory was almost in their grasps so that he could rip it away in some sick power move. That sadistic piece of shit sacrificed his own kind for dramatic fucking effect, to make his win taste sweeter in his own mouth. Stiles can’t believe she almost let him clap her seventeen year old cheeks into oblivion because she _really_  wanted to.

 

Well, he’s about to find out that Stiles has some moves of her own.

 

She pulls the sword out of the guard in front of her, mentally blocking out the feeling of meat sliding against the sword’s blade, and carefully sneaks around the orgy throne. Watching his muscular form from the back, she hesitates. If she somehow manages to fly on command, she can save everyone. However, in the equally likely event that her useless ass falls flat on her face and blows her cover, they’re all probably going to die. Or be fucked. Violently. In many different positions. Many, many times. Possibly in a row. Shitshitshit that’s supposed to be _un_ ppealing abort thought sequence!!

 

Stiles is tired of being a useless human, (in this case a useless whore). She’s tired of being the hapless, helpless human every time something goes wrong. She’s done spreading mountain ash and swinging baseball bats.

 

The massive djinn is charging up an attack, his fists glowing red with magic, and this is her last chance to finally do something right for once.

 

With the most literal flying leap of faith, Stiles propels herself into the air, wings bursting out and flexing with forward momentum as she drives the sword into his back and zips upward. The blade rips through his flesh, the sword jostling with each rib bone that cracks against it before shattering. Two smacks sound through the room as the nearly severed pieces of his body hit the floor.

 

Stiles follows shortly after, his bloody corpse thankfully breaking her fall, the sword skidding across the shiny black floor. She lies there for a second, staring at the dancing lights on the ceiling as her head rings and her lungs fight to refill with oxygen after the wind was literally knocked out of her. She doesn’t hear anyone moving to help her, but that might just be because of the piercing static noise of her throbbing brain at the moment.

 

“ _C’sssome’ne hell meup?_ ” she slurs. Or at least she hopes she does.

 

In an instant she’s being lifted off the ground, and she thinks it might be Scott, but honestly the only thing she can see is a blur of pale skin and dark hair.

 

“ _M coverrd in bloodd!_ ”

 

The person above her shushes her.

 

“ _S’awesom_. _Killerfairy_.” And then she passes out.

 

••••

 

She wakes up in a comfy bed, head pounding like those two gorillas at the zoo when she was five.

 

“Stiles?”

 

Her eyes open to reveal four very worried looking people hanging over her.

 

“Wow, I had the weirdest dream. You were there. And you. And even you, Isaac.”

 

Her joke is followed by a round of unamused looks. Melissa breaks first, asking her how she’s doing as Stiles sits up.

 

“Well, I feel like shit.” Her heart stutters as she realises she accidentally cussed at Scott’s mom. “Shit, sorry- _fuck_.” Melissa just motions for her to continue, a poorly concealed grin tugging at her lips. “I want to apologise in advance.”

 

“Seriously, sweetheart. It’s no prob-“

 

“Cool. In that case, did you guys _see_  his cock? Of course you did! There’s no way you didn’t! It was _massive_. Thank fuck you came in when you did. He was about to put that battering ram all up in my princess parts.”

 

Everyone groans, except Melissa who jumps up.

 

“OKAY! I think you’re gonna live so I’m gonna go....” she trails off as she backs her way to the door. “.... anywhere but here.” With that, she hurries away, leaving Stiles with the wolves.

 

“Are you alright?” Scott asks sincerely, sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s precious.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah. Why?”

 

“Because you just murdered a djinn malek and fell thirty feet from the air,” Derek cuts in bluntly.

 

“I’m fine,” Stiles says in a harder voice, because really she is. It’s done and over with. And she’s _alive_. Unlike all of the other times, she wasn’t completely at the mercy of the person trying to kick ( _fuck_ ) her ass. She didn’t leave the scene last night with the horrifying notion that she was alive only through sheer luck.

 

Peter not maiming him after Stiles rejected the bite, luck.

 

Allison being there to ignite the Molotov cocktail in Peter’s hand after he fucking caught it, luck.

 

Stiles and Derek _both_  not drowning in the pool, luck.

 

Matt not blowing Stiles’ brains out the first chance he got, luck.

 

Gerard deciding to release him after beating the ever loving shit out of Stiles, luck.

 

The Darach taking Heather instead of him, luck.

 

Scott not lighting both of their asses up at the motel, luck.

 

Hiding with Cora in the ambulance, luck.

 

Literally not dying two weeks ago when he got pushed fifteen feet down a fucking mudbank and hit his head on a rock, luck.

 

The list is endless. She could make a tv series out of Stiles’ Most Helpless Moments.

 

So yeah, all things considered, Stiles is better now than ever.

 

“What happened to the fuck pile?” she says quickly, brushing off the concerned stares as she flips the covers off and hops out of the bed to stretch. She’s still in the god forsaken sex slave outfit, but she doesn’t have the energy nor the desire to be bashful that her goods are damn near on full display.

 

Isaac all but whimpers, and Derek literally growls at him, causing the beta to recoil and cast his eyes downward. It’s.... hotter than Stiles thought it would be.

 

“The uh.... the fuck pile?” Scott asks, trying to diffuse the developing situation. His eyes are trained on her face. And Stiles knows it’s because he’s trying not to look anywhere else because that’s exactly what she did with Erica.

 

“Yeah, did you guys seriously not see the massive, writhing orgy? There were like, tentacles, and elephant trunks, and goo.... so much goo.” Stiles shudders.

 

Any response is cut off by her phone ringing. It’s her father. She snatches it off the bedside table and flops down on her stomach on the bed as she chimes, “Hey, dad!” Again, boobs. Ouch.

 

“Stiles, are you alright? Melissa sent me a text–“

 

“Of course she did. I’m _fine_.”

 

“You were kidnapped!”

 

“It’s not like it’s the first time.”

 

“Mieczysław Elijah Stilinski, if your ass isn’t through the front door in ten minutes, I swear to god–“

 

Stiles hangs up the phone, face burning like a wild fire from embarrassment. She sincerely hopes nobody heard him. She has done her diddly darn best to keep her first name a secret— helped in part by teachers who never even _tried_  to read her name during roll call— and fuck if anyone is going to find it out. She already got a fucking lifetime’s worth of ridicule from Billy Masters after the CSTs in sixth grade. Thank god the little shit couldn’t even pronounce her name to tell other people.

 

“Well, I must be on my way. Papá is requesting my presence. Scott, give me your hoodie. Is my Jeep here or is it still downtown?”

 

“It’s not here. I’ll drive you,” Derek says, and Stiles feels a giddy flutter in her stomach that only worsens once she’s in the passenger seat of his car, surrounded by his scent.

 

He smells really good, better than ever actually. It’s like some expensive aftershave mingling with his natural pheromones. It’s heavenly. She finds herself inhaling slowly several times over, and she knows he’s noticed by the way his eyebrows raise.

 

“Is something wrong?” he asks, barely taking his eyes off of the road to glance at her in concern.

 

Stiles can’t seem to come up with an answer in her usual quick witted manner. It takes her a second because she doesn’t know how to politely say she wants to suck the foreskin off of him.

 

She settles for a little ‘yeah’ that may come out more airy than she’d intended. His grip on the steering wheel tightens in response. His aura is tense, but not from anger.

 

From arousal.

 

Stiles is two seconds from hopping the center console and ravaging him when he turns the corner onto her street. He slows to a stop in front of her house. She half expects him to kick her out of the car, but he sighs and looks at her, sincere eyes conveying a lot more than the “get some rest” he offers verbally.

 

“You too,” she replies before making the split second decision to lean over the console and whisper in his ear, “You’re gonna need it.” She laughs at the burst of arousal rolling off him as she runs up her drive way.

 

Her smile quickly fades away as she enters the house and finds her dad sitting on the couch with a stern look on his face.

 

“Having a good time?”

 

“I told you I was fine.”

 

He rises to his feet, then, pacing back and forth before he finally starts speaking. “You take off at god knows when while I’m at work, chasing after god knows what evil creature it is this time. You get _kidnapped_ , fight said thing, and your friends show up to Melissa’s house with your _unconscious body_ , and you expect me to accept ‘I’m fine’ as a suitable explanation?” He’s seething, his face is bright red, and his teeth are clenched so tightly the words barely make it out.

 

“Well, it’s not like I knew I was their target! I don’t even know what they wanted with me.”

 

The emotions he’s radiating are hitting her like punches to the gut. Anger, frustration, grief. “All I asked for was your honesty. If you’re hellbent on saving the world, then I can’t stop you. But what you’re not gonna do is treat our communication as an afterthought. Every one of these situations is life or death.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Then I need to know about it. Not as the sheriff. As your father.”

 

“I’ll... I’ll try harder.”

 

“No, Stiles!” he yells suddenly, startling her. Her heart drops violently before she has time to react. And her lip starts to wobble. It’s an involuntary reaction.

 

Her dad’s face drops to confusion almost immediately. “What are you doing?”

 

Stiles tries her very hardest but the first few tears slip down her cheeks followed a sob, and then she’s full on crying into her hands. It’s embarrassing, which only makes her cry harder.

 

“What did I do?” he asks in a panic, thoroughly uncomfortable with crying girls, which is ridiculous because he’s the sheriff. He literally tells people their family members have died, but he can’t take a girl crying.

 

“You-you’re yelling— _*gasp*_ — at me!”

 

“Shit. Uh.... I’m sorry?”

 

“No, you’re— _hyick!_ — not!”

 

Stiles is awkwardly engulfed in a hug, her father’s arms hesitantly wrapping around her shoulders. And that’s just exactly what she needed, she realises as she winds her arms around his torso in a death grip and cries into his chest. They stand there embraced until her sobs quiet to sniffles.

 

“Are you okay now?”

 

Stiles nods into his shirt, releasing her grip on him so that he can pull her back by her shoulders so they can make eye contact.

 

“I just keep imagining what if you hadn’t been alive when they carried you out of the fight last night... I can’t lose you.”

 

Stiles tears up again, blubbering out a similar sentiment before she’s in the shower. She flings the flowy pants and the bra into her bedroom floor afterwards, putting Scott’s jacket back on with just a pair of panties. It’s only eight in the morning, but she collapses on her bed anyway. She’s exhausted. Physically and emotionally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, idk if the action sucked or not. I’m really only good for writing comedy
> 
> Basically I just project my personality onto girl stiles so if you like her my Twitter is @moviekidd666 and I worship dylan there


	9. Period Fairies & Panties

Stiles rolls over onto her stomach, bunching up the sheets as tight as they’ll go as she writhes into the ball of fabric. She’d woken up moments ago to an uncomfortable throb in her gut that had quickly evolved into searing pain. It’s like someone is taking her intestines and just squeezing the shit out of them. This particular set of contractions has lasted three minutes straight and Stiles is feeling light headed. It passes, thankfully, but only long enough for her to turn over and grab the phone off her bedside table.

 

She struggles to scroll through her contacts while trembling, but eventually she gets to the name she wants.

 

“What–“

 

Derek barely gets the word out before Stiles is whimpering down the phone line like a pathetic piece of trash. She would have called Scott, but she’s pretty sure she’s dying and Scott’s too much of a fucking potato to think on his feet.

 

“Stiles, where are you?”

 

“My bed.” She hisses in pain, dropping the phone as she buries her face into her pillow and squeezes her eyes shut so hard she sees psychedelic spots.

 

“I’m on my way. Stay there. Don’t hang up the phone.”

 

It’s just fifteen minutes before she hears her window creak open. By then she’s wrapped around a pillow, biting it.

 

Derek pauses once he’s in the room, quite obviously scenting the environment. His eyes widen a little, shooting over to her in shock. He calmly approaches her, squatting beside her bed so that they’re eye level. “You smell like blood.”

 

Swoon. He has such a way with words. Knows exactly what to say to make a girl feel good about herself.

 

Stiles glares at him. “I don’t know how. I’m completely healed. I bathed.”

 

“No, you smell like...”

 

“Like what?”

 

He scrunches up his face in apology as he carefully says, “Like menstrual blood.”

 

Stiles goes pale as a sheet, everything clicking into place. She buries her head in the pillow once she regains control over her body.

 

“It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Only immature teenage boys make a big deal out of it.”

 

“Yesterday, I _was_  a teenage boy!”

 

“And today you’re a woman. Congratulations.”

 

Stiles slams her pillow into his face.

 

“Call Lydia. I don’t like you anymore.”

 

••••

 

Derek leaves as Lydia arrives in a flurry of convenience store bags. She dumps everything on her bedroom floor before popping back up with a huge smirk. It’s almost as if the sight of Stiles curled up in bed on the edge of death brings her joy.

 

Actually, that’s definitely it. Little bursts of satisfaction radiate off her being as she chirps, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

 

“Why does it seem like you’re enjoying this?”

 

“Oh, because I am, Stiles.” She picks up each of the bags and empties their contents into a pile as she speaks. “I thought I would never live to see the day when a male would finally get to experience first hand all of the horrors of menstruation.” Lydia kneels down by the bed so that she’s eye-level with Stiles, like Derek but menacing, voice lowering to a patronisingly soft tone. “Period jokes aren’t so funny now are they, fucker?” She sets a pair of underwear and a pad next to Stiles’ arm. “Clean up and we’ll talk.”

 

••••

 

Stiles joins Lydia on her bedroom floor, feeling like a baby in a diaper. Lydia has laid out an array of feminine products, but before she says anything, she gives Stiles a tiny blue pill. Stiles just looks at her questioningly, the pill perched in her open palm.

 

“For the cramps,” Lydia explains with a roll of her eyes when Stiles doesn’t immediately trust her and down the pill. “Lesson one of shedding your uterine lining: midol is your new best friend.”

 

Stiles grabs a half empty water bottle from her desk and downs the medicine because only psychopaths take pills without a drink. Prime example: Gerard Argent.

 

“Does it hurt like this for all girls?”

 

“It’s different for everyone. Usually, your first few periods are agony, but then you start knowing what to expect.”

 

“Not to be intrusive, but how do you deal with cramps? It’s like you never miss a beat. There’s no way in hell I could be running around fighting werewolves and shit in this condition.”

 

Lydia contemplates her answer, and Stiles can tell she’s obviously deciding whether or not the next words to come out of her mouth will be the truth. And Stiles can’t exactly blame her. It would be weird to share this kind of personal information with someone who could wake up the next day with a penis and no need to know it. Finally, her shoulders sag and she sighs, indicating that she’s actually going to be honest.

 

“It’s because I don’t deal with cramps ever. I don’t get periods; I have an IUD.”

 

“Is that like a bomb?”

 

Lydia just looks at her incredulously for a second before speaking. “You are far too smart to be this stupid.”

 

“Okay, don’t patronise me, _Period Fairy_. It was a genuine question.”

 

“I have an IUD not an IED. It’s a birth control device that stays in my uterus so I don’t have to take pills every day. But I’ve had it for so long, that I just don’t get periods anymore.

 

“But enough about me. Let’s talk your options: pads, tampons, diva cup, or free bleeding if you’re feeling adventurous.”

 

Stiles gags at the last option. This is gonna be awful.

 

••••

 

The day is uneventful for the most part as she spends it napping and trying to think about anything other than big blue cock. Her dad comes home at a respectable hour with pizza, and she cries next him while watching Spider-Man 3 because Peter Parker really just had the shittiest life.

 

After the movie, when she goes to her room, Derek is waiting in her desk chair, only looking slightly like he wants to be anywhere else. Two times in one day. She must be special.

 

“No Peter tonight?” Stiles asks just to get on his nerves. It works.

 

“No, we need to talk.”

 

Stiles looks away from him with an irritated smile, flicking her absurdly long hair over her shoulder as she sits down on her bed. When she finally looks back at him, he’s got this expression on, eyes sad and guilty.

 

Stiles would almost feel bad for him if he hadn’t put her life in the hands of his sociopathic uncle because he was too afraid to balls up when she gave him the chance. The only reason she’s humouring him now that her ridiculous hormones aren’t set to ‘succ’ is that he took on a whole ass genie king for her. “There’s nothing to talk about. You made it pretty perfectly clear.”

 

“You do understand that it’s a _crime_  that I can go to _jail_  for right?”

 

“The law is for pussies,” Stiles says back defiantly. Maybe she has a “my parent is in law enforcement so I’m untouchable” complex. Stiles makes a mental note to address that at a later date.

 

“Stiles, I’m trying to tell you...” Derek stops for a second, clearly struggling with himself before he chokes out, in fragments, teeth clenched and eyes squeezed shut, “...that I... like... you. But–“

 

“Not enough to go to jail?” Stiles knows she’s being a bitch, but she’s upset and on her first period so she gets a pass, okay?

 

“Stiles, you’re being unreasonable!” Derek exclaims exasperatedly.

 

“ _I’m_  being unreasonable? If wanting to suck your soul out of your dick makes me unreasonable then I don’t know what to tell you!”

 

“I- Really?”

 

Stiles has never heard Derek speak in that tone before. He actually sounds like a normal twenty-one year old for a second instead of a brooding rage machine, his voice shooting up and cracking. It’s.... kind of hot. “I mean.... yeah,” Stiles giggles, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “Can I?” It’s honestly embarrassing how quickly and easily Derek can make her turn in to an eager little tart.

 

“Now?” he replies, almost breathless.

 

“Whenever you want.”

 

Stiles slinks across the room until she’s in front of him, slipping onto her knees with so much grace she knows her eyes must be glowing. Stiles runs her hands up his jeans, thumbs skirting against the inner seam of his jeans as she works her way higher and higher. Derek is holding his breath, but his claws are out and his eyes are glowing red. She can _hear_  his heartbeat racketing against his ribcage so when it stutters as her hand sweeps up the hard length under his pants, she smirks.

 

Stiles jumps into action then, popping the button of his pants before he can snap out of it and protest. If she can just get his dick in her mouth then it’ll be all peaches.

 

And she does, not stopping to kiss around the head or tease him with little licks because she really doesn’t want him to change his mind, and it’ll be a hell of a lot harder for him to change his mind with the tip of his dick popping past the ring of her throat as she enthusiastically swallows him down. Stiles fully gives over to the nymph, letting her instinct guide her and stop her from gagging. It’s so much easier this way, to let the white hot of desire wash over her fully. It’s like an epiphany.

 

Stiles feels the scrape of claws over her scalp and moans around him, toes curling. His hand practically palms her head, grasping her by the skull as he sets a more rigorous pace for her and Stiles has to grab his knees for support, tears streaming down her face. She just _knows_  she could work him up to the point of fucking her facedown on the forest floor with good timing and a little nymph magic.

 

Stiles funnels all of her sexual frustration into chasing his dick with the tip of her tongue as it slides back and forth from her teeth to her tonsils.

 

“God, you’re perfect,” Derek grits out, and when Stiles flicks her eyes up, he’s staring right back into them so intensely Stiles can’t help the ensuing whimper. The noise must do something for him because in an instant his face is transforming, brow broadening and fangs elongating.

 

He’s close. Her nymph can sense it, and knows exactly what to do. Stiles lets one of her hands slide down Derek’s leg because she’s absolutely into it too, her fingers quickly going into her pants, blood be damned, fingers dancing across her clit quickly but not roughly as she is quite sensitive. She wants to be taken to that place eventually though, where she has no control and it’s too much but she has to take what’s given to her. Her eyelids flutter, and Derek slows down, breathing deeply as he drags it out, staving off his orgasm long enough to watch her do what’s she’s doing.

 

Stiles just focuses on the weight of him in her mouth, grounding herself to this moment, reminding herself that she doesn’t need some obscene fantasy to get off because she’s living one right now. She’s literally sucking Derek Hale’s dick on her bedroom floor with her hand in her pants, whimpering around his cock like some needy slut, totally getting off on the feeling of subordinance.

 

“You like this, don’t you?” He’s using his alpha voice, and her eyes roll to the back of her head. His fingers move back and forth across her scalp before they drift down slowly, one claw tracing down around her ear and across the curve of her jaw. His finger traces around the seam where they’re connected, his claw pulling the edge of her lip down before letting it gently thwap against his dick.

 

Stiles pushes her face all the way down, nose hitting the smooth skin of his meticulously man-scaped abdomen, so that she can’t even moan when she cums, throat constricting and fluttering around in dick in a way that immediately sends him over the edge too. He shoots directly down her throat, none of it landing on her tongue. When she pulls off, she’s almost disappointed until she realises she can actually taste him at the back of her throat. Stiles smiles happily, flashing her teeth as she pulls her gross, bloody fingers out of her pants.

 

“I’m gonna go wash my hands,” Stiles simpers, rising with a giddy little wiggle. Derek is lax in the chair, head tipped back and eyes closed. He barely grunts at her, but his vibes are low and rumbly and affectionate like a cat purring. Stiles skips to the bathroom, sticking her hand under the faucet before the blood can dry.

 

In the middle of scrubbing the red out of the crevices of her nail, she feels this little tingle. It almost tickles, and she thinks maybe it’s the after effects of a pretty okay orgasm. Then her stomach drops, and her body feels like it’s made of oobleck. “What the _fuck_ –“ her eyes blow out in horror in the mirror as her voice suddenly shifts then drops like it had when Stiles was thirteen and in the throes of puberty but to a much more drastic degree as her voice literally changes octaves and an Adam’s apple appears under the thin skin of her throat.

 

That’s all she sees before her legs give way, and now she’s on the floor, on the Star Wars bath mat she’d conned her father into putting in the upstairs bathroom because nobody would even see it, wet fingers scrambling against the wooden cabinet doors under the bathroom counter.

 

Stiles gasps when she feels _it_ , and by _it_ he means his dick elongating against the silky inside of the panties, and that would be fucking _awesome_  were it not for the absolute fucking trauma of seeing his hands go from soft and dainty to hairy and masculine in a matter of seconds. He wants to call for help, wonders why Derek can’t hear any of this going down, but is immensely grateful that he can’t. The sheer horror of Derek walking in on this, seeing the Frankenstein in-between form he’s currently in would be worse than dying. There’s no coming back from that. Every time Derek saw _him_  or _her_ , he’d probably have flashbacks to Stiles looking like the Hills Have Fucking Eyes and go pudding-soft.

 

After a few seconds of horrifying leg-growth, the tingling finally stops, Stiles writhing onto his back and gasping for air. The world is eerily calm, the sudden loss of his extra sensory perception leaving him with the feeling that his head is in a glass bubble because everything is so _still_.

 

He reckons he didn’t feel so jarred the first time he changed back because it happened in his sleep and he had time to adjust to his new settings before he was conscious. This, however, is hellish. It’s almost like dissociating with the similar panicky feeling of being disconnected from one’s senses. Stiles is very familiar with dissociation, having floated through the three months following his mom’s death, so he feels pretty qualified to make the comparison.

 

It takes a few minutes for his heart to settle to a tempo that doesn’t feel like he took five times the prescribed dosage of his adderall, before he’s finally able to scrape himself off the floor. He’s literally never been more grateful and relieved to look in a mirror and see his own face in all its wonderfully average glory.

 

His first order of business as a dude is to take the panties off and dispose of the pad. He’s suddenly really grateful that he hadn’t gone the tampon route because where would it have gone? Would it be trapped inside his body? Would it be lodged in his dick? Would it disappear into thin air?

 

Stiles shudders, not wanting the answer to any of those questions as he gets into the shower.

 

••••

 

When he gets back to his room, Derek is right where he left him, earbuds in as he scrolls through an old ass MP3 player. It looks kind of like Stiles’ old MP3 player. The one with the “For Lydia <3“ playlist that Stiles spent three months curating in eighth grade until he realised that giving a whole device full of songs to a complete stranger was creepy as hell and also a good way to get his scrawny little ass smeared across the pavement by Jackson.

 

Stiles launches himself across the few feet between them to snatch the music player away from Derek, but without even looking up, the big brute sticks out a hand and deflects Stiles onto the floor, which _hurts_  because his nymph powers are turned off. Derek seems surprised too, only then flicking his eyes upward.

 

He snatches the earbuds out of his ears, regarding Stiles with a startled expression as if _he’s_  the one who just got batted out of the air like a fucking gnat.

 

“What happened? Why are you a guy?” Derek‘s eyes flicker over Stiles where he’s sprawled across the floor with only a damp towel to protect his virtue. “Why are you naked?”

 

Stiles grips the towel tightly with one hand while pushing himself off the floor with the other. “I don’t know what the hell happened,” he snaps, going to his closet. “One minute, I’m washing my hands, and the next, I’m _literally_  growing a pair. It was fucking horrifying.”

 

Derek doesn’t respond, a contemplative expression on his face. It’s kinda cute actually. His eyebrows are all furrowed and his eyes are all dark and thoughtful. Stiles turns around before his thoughts manifest themselves as a boner, since he suddenly gets those again. Stiles pulls down a pair of sweatpants from the top of his closet, shimmying to get them up under the towel so Derek doesn’t see his bits. Yeah, he just technically sucked Derek’s dick, but.... it was _her_ , with her long hair and pretty face and tits. Nothing ever happened between them before this whole ordeal began. Derek barely tolerated his presence until he sprouted a vagina. All in all, Stiles would rather avoid any humiliating confrontation that could potentially lead to finding out Derek’s interested in _her_  but not _him_. The confirmation would be too much.

 

It feels kinda like everyone likes him, but they love her, which is fucking stupid because she’s still Stiles, just with a little pop of all his usually-contained sexual, hedonistic traits. And a pussy, but Stiles has never been one to care about genitals so it’s hard for him to understand why they would when it comes to him.

 

His dad lets her off the hook for things that would get him grounded indefinitely.

 

Isaac lets her vent her little heart out on his bed, but tells him to breathe quieter.

 

Allison texts her back and forth when previously she always used Scott as a middle man to contact Stiles.

 

Scott stares at her like he’s got a dumb fucking crush and treats her like a little flower— not that Stiles is complaining about this one as if he, as a dude, wishes to get the princess treatment from Scott. It’s just fucking weird that Scott has a crush on him sometimes now.

 

Derek lets her _suck his fucking dick_.

 

Lydia and Peter are pretty much the only people who don’t give him special treatment. If this had happened to anybody else, Lydia would have done for them what she’s done for him. They’ve only grown closer due to exposure.

 

As for Peter, the guy has always had a major hard on for dude Stiles, but he’s totally not into girl Stiles, which honestly feels like a win. Sure, Stiles may jerk off to him sometimes, but the guy’s a fucking nutcase and old enough to be his father.

 

Stiles gets lost in all his memories of Peter being a creep and subtly hitting on him, so he really can’t help the terrified scream he releases when Derek’s hand lands on his shoulder and whips him around.

 

“Was that necessary?!” Stiles yells, clutching his heart. Derek, somehow, manages to ignore him to his face.

 

“Both times you’ve turned back, it’s been in connection to something sexual.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, unravelling the towel as he skirts around Derek. He throws it in the ‘dirty’ pile in the corner of his room before he starts pacing, thoughts flowing almost faster than he can focus, so he lets them all out to organise them verbally. “I don’t think so. Aside from the obvious statistical error of attempting to form a correlation with only two incidences so far, it just doesn’t add up. The first time...” Stiles clears his throat, the warmth of a blush creeping across his cheeks, “... The first time, nothing even happened. I didn’t turn back until a couple days later. So that can’t be it. It has to be something else. We need to talk to Scott.”

 

“What’s Scott going to do about it?”

 

“I don’t know. Sometimes, he’s helpful. I’ll text him to come over tomorrow.”

 

••••

 

Stiles wakes up in the middle of the night, which is only unusual because he wasn’t awake to begin with. It’s not that he has insomnia or anything. Just a fucking stupid circadian rhythm.

 

It’s pitch black in the room, which actually _is_  unusual because Stiles always leaves a light on, even if it’s just the nightlight by his closet door. There are too many things that go bump in the night for him to be caught off guard by sleeping in total darkness.

 

Derek is sitting in his desk chair, earbuds in and head tipped back in an silent snore. He’s so cute. Probably fell asleep because of the awesome head Stiles gave him. Stiles’ sleepy eyes drift around the room, doing as much of a once over as he can with the only light source being the dim glow of the moon coming through the window.

 

His breath catches in his throat a little as he sees a figure in his mirror staring back at him with familiar milky white eyes. Stiles blinks and its gone. Using his sleep-addled brain’s half logic, Stiles pulls his covers over his head and falls back asleep.

 

••••

 

Scott is over bright and early at eight-thirty the next morning. They were supposed to go see Deaton today anyways. He’s already gotten at Derek for falling asleep on the job, to which Derek can only roll his eyes and grunt apologetically. Then, Scott turns to him.

 

“Dude, you’re a dude again.”

 

“Yeah, happened last night. Have you ever changed back into a dude and ended up with your dick in panties? Shit was magical.” Stiles pauses then, horrified at the words that have just come out of his mouth. Scott and Derek seem equally shocked and appalled, well Derek seems a little turned on, but Stiles has always known someone with that much repressed trauma would have some pretty weird kinks. “I think I’m turning into her,” Stiles gasps suddenly, hoping if he makes a big scene out of it he can distract from the former embarrassment of saying he liked the way panties felt on his dick in front of his best friend and the like of his fricken life.

 

“That does sound like something she would say,” Derek says contemplatively, clearly trying to act cool even though Stiles’ partially returned spidey senses can clearly detect that he’s a fucking _freak_. In other news, Derek is at least a little attracted to Stiles no matter his genitals so that’s a fucking win.

 

“We need to talk to Deaton,” Scott says with a sideways look at Derek as the grown ass man starts visibly blushing. His beard blocks most of it, but Stiles has spent an unmentionable amount of time staring at the guy so he can see it. “And fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here she is. ngl i didn't mean to write in a bj it just happened. also i've had the iud part written for months i love it


	10. Anyway here’s wonderwall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally didn’t know what to name this chapter I’m-

Stiles follows Scott through the back entrance of Deaton’s office, back in manic pixie form (this time it happened while she was in the shower doing her morning business and she’s not even going to talk about how traumatic it was to see her own dick shrinking out of her hand and back into her body). It feels weird being here and knowing she’s the one who needs his help this time. Like always, the man somehow senses them, turns around, and greets them with that infuriatingly polite yet oddly comforting smile that doesn’t falter even as he registers Stiles’ altered state for the first time.

 

“Can’t believe I show up in your office with boobs, and all you say is hello. _What_  phases you?” Stiles remarks as she hops up onto the metal examination table.

 

Deaton, in his typical mysterious manner, bypasses the question by pulling off his stethoscope and asking how she is.

 

“Other than the boobs?” Stiles asks as he presses it over her heart. She’s spent plenty of time in the hospital so she knows the drill, breathing in and out slowly and letting him check her pulse.

 

He gives her a deadpan look, and if she didn’t know better she would think it was a little fond. “Are there any other signs or symptoms? I didn’t get much from Scott’s frantic voicemails.” He turns to Scott, who’s blushing. “Remind me to give you my personal number.”

 

Stiles smiles a little, loving that Scott cares for her so much. Her period brain (yeah that shit just picked up where it left off) makes her a little sentimental, okay. “Uh... I have these long claw-talon-thingies and my eyes glow green and I can hear better and see better and sense emotions-“

 

“And you have wings!” Scott cuts in.

 

The vet’s eyebrows actually do raise in surprise at this. It’s more of a gentle upwards shift, but Stiles is counting it as a full raise.

 

Scott continues, “They’re like dragonfly wings. And kind of shiny like iridescent. But they’re hard to see clearly because they move so fast.”

 

“Have you looked into any of this yourselves?”

 

“Peter said I was a forest nymph whatever the fuck that means. And Lydia– oh yeah!” Stiles pulls her hair over her shoulder, turning her head to the side so the man can see the tattoo. “This appeared on me the first day. Lydia said it ties back to the story of Hera and Tiresias, but we can’t figure out how because last I checked I haven’t killed any banging snakes. Please don’t touch it; it hurts if you do.”

 

“Interesting concept. It’s definitely worth exploring, and I think I might have something that can help.” Deaton turns to a cabinet that Stiles knows is guarded by a lock from snooping around in here in the past. Deaton pulls a key out of a wooden jar covered in weird little markings, and uses that to unlock the wooden doors. It’s a weird concept to finally be able to feel the effects first hand, but even from a couple meters away, Stiles can sense that they’re made of mountain ash wood. He swings them open to reveal two rows of books in various conditions, but all very old and spooky looking. Stiles notes that the inside panels of the doors bear similar markings to the key cup.

 

“What are those markings on the cup and the doors?”

 

“They’re called ‘runes’,” Deaton replies, scanning the spines of the books until he seems to find what he’s looking for. He pulls out a book with a fancy white cover and gilded pages. It’s one of the newer looking books. “I use them to prevent these texts from falling into the possession of the wrong person.”

 

“Like magic?” Scott asks, moving around the table to look on as his boss sets the book on the table next to Stiles and opens it.

 

“Exactly.”

 

“Can you do magic?”

 

“No,” he pauses for dramatic effect, “-but Stiles might be able to.”

 

“Stiles?!” Scott and Stiles both exclaim at the same time, causing the man in front of them to sigh, eyes dropping almost guiltily for a split second, before they snap up to Scott.

 

“Scott, do you mind giving us a moment?”

 

“Oh, uh- yeah. Okay, sure. I’ll just be... up front I guess.” Scott awkwardly shows himself out of the room.

 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks suspiciously. While Deaton has proven himself an ally countless times, there’s only so much trust you can put into a man who calmly informs you he’s going to be kidnapped over a phone call. Said man turns to Stiles fully before answering.

 

“I’ve failed to be completely honest with you, Stiles. There’s something you should know...” He pauses, searches for the right words. “You possess an innate magical energy. Remember when I told you about the spark? Everyone has that. Yours just glows a little brighter than most.”

 

Stiles eyes dart to the side weirdly, flattening her lips into an awkward line. She’s not sure what to make of this information. Hell, she doesn’t even know exactly what this information _is_. “Am I a wizard?”

 

“What? No.”

 

“A mage?”

 

“Stiles, no-“

 

“A shaman? A sorcerer? A Wiccan?” Stiles fires in rapid succession.

 

Deaton, for the first time, looks mildly frustrated with Stiles, and, hey, maybe she shouldn’t piss off the mysterious Druid emissary/veterinarian. She promptly closes her mouth so he can continue.

 

“You’re still human. You’ve just got a more natural access point to magic than most people do. Spells and rituals that I’ve studied many years to execute properly, you could probably do right now with much less effort.” His hand twitches beside the book, drawing Stiles’ fleeting attention,

 

“Oh.” Her eyes travel across the ornate calligraphy on the page before blowing wide with realisation. “ _Ohhhhhh_. You want me to do it right now?”

 

“There’s a spell you can do to reveal details about the source of your magic. Given your current state, it’s safe to say your magical abilities are heightened in this form. We want to know what’s heightening them.”

 

Stiles cannot help the manic smile that breaks across her face. _This_ is the type of cool shit she’s been waiting to do. Like, yeah flying is cool but can you imagine the absolute havoc Stiles can wreak with magic? She won’t.... but just imagine it. Salivate. Savor it. That’s the taste of real power— tangy and sweet and crackling on her tongue.

 

Like poprocks.

 

Deaton gives her a wary look before making his way to a tall metal cabinet. It has a combination padlock on it so its must be kind of important but not as important as the other one. This one is filled top to bottom with shelves upon shelves of various jars and vials and bottles. Somehow, he knows exactly what he’s looking for out of the hundreds of containers and plucks them all out, putting them on a rolling metal tray, which he then pushes over to Stiles.

 

“If you could just hop down from there— we’ll be needing the workspace.”

 

Stiles scrambles off the table in her usual awkward, flailing manner, straightening her t-shirt with a blush when she finally rights herself. Even the simplest tasks are thwarted by her apparent lack of a functional equilibrium.

 

She quickly distracts herself from embarrassment by snatching up one of the little glass containers. It’s filled with an orangey-brown powder of some sort.

 

“What’s this? Some ancient magic powder?”

 

Deaton pauses for only a second, twisting the jar in her hand to expose the label before resuming reading the magic book.

 

Cinnamon.

 

Stiles, pointedly ignoring that niggling feeling of being the stupidest person alive, sets it back down and inspects the other three jars. There’s dry leaves labelled ‘bay laurel’,little green flakes called ‘chervil’, and cloves.

 

“Stiles, on the counter behind you there’s a spice grinder. Can you put in two bay leaves, five cloves, and about two teaspoons each of the cinnamon and chervil?”

 

“What? No mortar and pestle?” Stiles jokes, pulling the cart with her. She doesn’t exactly know what a teaspoon is because Stiles Stilinski in any form or phase of life has never been great at cooking, but she guesses it’s probably a few pinches. A little puff of the mixture comes up into Stiles’ face as she opens the grinder, and it smells like Christmas.

 

“Fantastic job,” Deaton says over her shoulder, startling her. “But in the future, I would refrain from directly breathing in anything you’re working with unless instructed to do so. Many ingredients tend to be toxic.”

 

“Oh, cool..... Can Scott come back in? He’s about to fucking break his little werewolf ears trying to eavesdrop.”

 

Deaton barely has the word out before Scott is busting back in with a giddy look on his face. “You’re about to do magic, dude!”

 

“I know! It’s fucking awesome!” Stiles gives Scott an enthusiastic high five, Deaton chuckling to himself in the background.

 

••••

 

Magic is considerably less fun now with her face covered in blood. All she knows is Deaton left the building with an empty jar and came back with a jar full of blood and now it’s on her face— and the table, a hierogram with several different religious and magic symbols drawn with said blood. A few candles are in the center along with a ceramic dish with the spice powder in a cute little heap. She’s sat on on the table in front of it all as Deaton highly advised her not to try anything standing up in case she goes into some weird trance and/or passes out.

 

“All you do is hold the flame to the spice and repeat the incantation we just went over. Don’t remove the flame while you speak. And— _don’t_  say the incantation to the tune of Yankee Doodle this time.”

 

Stiles refuses to feel embarrassed because of that. It’s actually a very useful mnemonic device. It’s how she memorised all the counties in California for her California history class.

 

With an encouraging nod from Deaton, she lights the mini butane torch, holding it to the fire as she begins to chant, “ _Magicae et truces iras tegunt originis tuae. Magicae et truces iras tegunt originis tuae. Magicae_...” An odd sensation spreads through her body, starting around her chest and radiating all the way out to the tips of her fingers and toes. At first it’s like a muted tingling, but the more the powder burns, the more it intensifies until it feels like her whole body is on fire. It feels like when Scott touched her tattoo, but times a hundred.

 

Stiles can’t hear herself anymore, but her mouth is still moving. In fact, she can’t hear anything. It’s like she’s on a different plane of existence, looking at her world through a glass panel.

 

“Deity. Goddess. Hera.”

 

Stiles whips around in the empty space, although her physical body remains still, searching for the source of the words. It’s not even a voice really. It vaguely resembles sound but at the same time, it’s not. Like an inner voice nonverbally processing thoughts. Except it doesn’t belong to her. It’s deep and thick like melted chocolate.

 

In an instant Stiles feels the tether to her body pull tight and she’s snapped back into reality with a gasp, nearly falling off the table.

 

“Jesus fucking christ!”

 

Scott is staring at her with eyes blown wide while Deaton wears a small smile that almost seems, dare she say, proud.

 

“Holy crap!” Scott yells suddenly. “You should have seen yourself! Your-your _SKIN_ , it was _GLOWING_! And your _EYES_  were glowing! And you talked in this really weird voice!” Scott then imitates the voice, and if Stiles was in her right mind she would laugh, but as it is she’s just had her perception of the universe redefined so she’s kind of mind-blown right now.

 

“Do you remember what you said?”

 

Stiles shakes her head. She can’t remember anything in specific now. Just the feeling. Like it was a dream.

 

“You said, ‘Deity, goddess, Hera.’ Do you know what that means?”

 

“My theory about Hera and Tiresias, but I-I still don’t understand-“

 

“The fact that you were able to call her by name suggests that your magic is directly linked to Hera. That makes the next part much easier.”

 

“What’s the next part?” Scott asks before Stiles can open her mouth.

 

“We request an audience with Hera.”

 

“ _THE_ _GODDESS?!_ ” Stiles actually screams. She wouldn’t even know how to greet the governor of her state much less one of the twelve Olympians oh god she’s gonna hurl—

 

Deaton, the information-withholding bastard, already has a bucket ready for her to empty her guts into. He knew the was gonna happen, the cunt. Poor Scott gags along in the background, a sympathetic puker.

 

Stiles thinks about the fact that she’s about to talk to a goddess before retching again.

 

••••

 

Okay, so by ‘easy’ apparently Deaton meant ‘extremely complicated.’

 

At this point, Stiles is genuinely horrified.

 

You know why? Because she had to slit a cow’s throat and collect its blood in a bowl. She’d asked Deaton why they couldn’t just order some cow blood off Amazon, which ended up in a ten minute lecture about paying respect to gods and putting in the work and all that mess. So now there are two huge jugs of cow blood in her fridge. Deaton kept the other ones. Freak.

 

In fact, she had to collect _everything_ herself. Everything consisting of comfrey, basil, cloves, sea salt, anise, a fucking _peacock_ _feather_  (that one hurt), belladonna berries, olive branches, black walnuts, cinnamon, and club moss spores. Do you know how tedious it is to collect the _spore_  of a plant?

 

Very.

 

It’s very tedious.

 

Thank god he let her buy a pomegranate at the farmer’s market.

 

Apparently, the ritual she’s about to perform is very sacred and personal so she has to do it alone. Requesting an audience with a goddess is harder than ever in this day and age when their names are synonymous with ‘myth,’ so Stiles is solitary on her way downstairs to get the cow blood. Halfway out of the kitchen her father stops her with a concerned look.

 

“Is there a particular reason you’re carrying a large jar of red liquid that I sincerely hope is mislabelled?”

 

Stiles goes with the truth as part of their new no secrets pact. “I’m performing a ritual to contact the goddess Hera so that I can get my dick back. She likes cows.”

 

“So that’s...” he trails off as he stares at the jar in total disgust before he just turns around and walks back into the living room. “Why did I ask?” he mutters to himself.

 

Stiles shrugs and hurries upstairs as carefully as possible. She has a temporarily misappropriated spice grinder and an itty bitty food processor (also Deaton’s). She puts the sticks of cinnamon and dried club moss spores into the grinder until they’re perfectly blended then adds the powder, belladonna berries, and black walnuts to the food processor which she uses to grind them into a thin paste. She puts it in a little ceramic bowl that she sets to the side. She opens this cute little box that Deaton had actually given to her to magically speed up the desiccation of her ingredients and pulls out a smudge stick consisting of cloves (to help her focus her energy) and anise (for Jupiter) wrapped in basil (for Mars) and comfrey leaves (for Saturn). She sets it on a ceramic plate, then picks up the bowl of poultice, carrying them both to the makeshift alter by her open window. It’s just her cleared off bedside table with some candles, olive branches, the peacock feather, sprinkled sea salt, the pomegranate, and a huge basin of cow blood.

 

Stiles locks her door before she turns around and starts stripping. She has to be ass naked for some reason. She sits on her knees in front of the altar and begins the ritual by smearing the slightly toxic belladonna poultice all over her body. The belladonna itself is supposed to help her tune into the right kind of energy and its also a common offering to honour the gods. The club moss and black walnuts essentially do the same thing, while the cinnamon is just a staple in magic for focusing energy.

 

She lights the smudge stick, waving it over the alter with her olive branch and peacock feather offerings.

 

The basin of blood is a medium for Hera to communicate through. As it turns out gods and goddesses aren’t the biggest fans of just appearing to humans, not because their puny human eyes couldn’t handle it but simply because they think humans are super fucking inferior and not worth the effort. Humans are like out of control pets for them. Or collateral step children. They’re a huge inconvenience to the gods 85% of the time.

 

Anyways, if all goes well, Stiles should see a few ripples in the blood indicating answers.

 

“Juno, daughter of Saturn, wife of Jupiter, mother of Mars, I request your guidance. Hera, daughter of Cronus, wife of Zeus, mother of Ares, I request an audience.”

 

Stiles sits silently and waits, as she was advised to do after calling on the deity by both her Roman and Greek names. Anymore begging would be indecent and could annoy her to the point that she purposely doesn’t answer. What Stiles isn’t expecting is the fully formed face to appear in the blood like Sirius Black in the fireplace.

 

“Yes, my child?”

 

Stiles screams and the face winces, but doesn’t disappear which is good because Stiles almost blew the whole thing. “Sorry, so sorry, Missus– Goddess– Your Holy Godliness–“

 

Hera cuts her off. “Hera is fine.”

 

Stiles blushes in embarrassment. She’s really trying to blow it. “Um, not to be a bother or anything— I’m Stiles, by the way.”

 

“I know who you are.”

 

“Oh cool, so you know that I really want my boy bits back. Like if you could maybe possibly make me a human boy again that would be cool.”

 

The red liquid eyebrows cinch together, lips forming an exaggerated frown that’s actually quite terrifying. “You don’t like my gift?”

 

“No! Of course not!– I mean of course not that I don’t like it. I _do_  like it, sometimes, but I– I have school in like a week and the last time I was at school I had a penis and I can’t just randomly sprout a vagina in between classes you know. It’s.... I like being a nymph and all that, but I don’t know anything about being a nymph. There’s a person who tells me things but he’s kind of a withholding douchebag and holds his knowledge of my kind over my head. Can you– could you please... help me? I’m just so confused.” Stiles finishes her mini rant with a helpless sigh.

 

The face looks contemplative before it concedes with an understanding nod. “Alright, then. Ask as many questions as you wish.”

 

“Seriously?”

 

She nods again.

 

“Uh, okay.... I guess I’ll start with, why me?”

 

“You were the closest suitable vessel.”

 

“Closest to what?”

 

“The djinn performing a ritual. His maleka was unyielding sexually. She did not like his extramarital affairs or his orgies, so he devised a plan. The night you were fighting djinn in the woods, they were only foot soldiers on guard while the djinn brought his wife to the edge of death and called upon a god to send the essence of an apsara into her. However, his intentions were not made clear, and he did not call upon a god by name, so I, the mother of nymphs, answered.”

 

“But... you also frown upon infidelity because you’re the goddess of marriage.”

 

“Correct. So I killed his wife and sent my gift into forest. You were dying, and your weak vessel readily absorbed the energy.”

 

Stiles’ breath catches in her throat. She was... dying? The fall hadn’t seemed that brutal, but honestly all she can truly remember is lying in the freezing cold water yet feeling a milky warmness before she blacked out and came to an hour later.

 

“You saved me.”

 

“Yes, now do you understand why I call it a gift?”

 

“But.... how do I...? I don’t know how to control it. Why do I keep switching between two sexes?”

 

“The longer you resist your nature, the more volatile you become.”

 

“So you’re saying if I have sex, I’ll be less volatile? And then what?”

 

“Then you can control the shift between your alpha, beta, sigma, and epsilon forms.”

 

“Which means?”

 

“Your alpha form is when you are fully a nymph and female. Beta is when you are partially a nymph and either female or male. Sigma is when you’re a human female. Epsilon is when you’re a human male.”

 

“And I can just change when I want?”

 

“If you give in to your instinct.”

 

In a nanosecond the face drops back into the bowl with a splash, the blood rippling before it goes still, and Stiles sits forward, gripping the edges of the basin. She searches the blood frantically, smudge stick burning absently on the floor behind her.

 

“Hera? HERA?!”

 

The bitch disappeared. The bitch dropped all this on her and disappeared. What a typical fucking god. While Stiles hasn’t met that many gods, this just seems like something that would be typical bullshit god behaviour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Literally I just like, failed two classes then slept all December


	11. Stiles Kisses Everybody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA GIRL'S A FUCKING IDIOT. i posted the wrong chapter. here's the right one

“I have to fuck someone right now!” Stiles screams, slamming Scott’s front door open. Her heart stutters when she catches sight of the scene in the living room. Scott and his mother are sat on the couch with grim expressions across from his father— Scott’s sperm donor— who looks entirely too affronted for someone who shouldn’t even _be_  here.  
  
“And who are you?”  
  
“Stella, who the fuck are you?” Stiles asks, entirely taking advantage of the fact that this man doesn’t know her in this form. She’s been prepared for a while for confrontation with someone who isn’t in the know about her whole nymph situation.  
  
Scott and Melissa barely conceal their smiles as ‘Stella’ marches through the living room like she owns the place and plops down beside Scott. If there’s one thing Stiles knows, it’s that the man in front of her is never welcome in their home. Ever. Melissa is just too polite to turn him away.  
  
He ignores her completely and addresses Scott. “Is she a friend of yours?”  
  
And Scott, the absolute fucking knob, freezes, and blurts “No!”  
  
“I’m his... girlfriend,” Stella grits out, glaring at Scott. It’s the only way she could think to save it. To make it seem believable, she wraps her hands around his bicep and leans against his arm, causing the boy to blush profusely.  
  
“You wouldn’t happen to be a Stilinski would you?”  
  
“Why does everyone ask me that? Anyways, it’s been tight, but Scott promised to take me out tonight so we’ve gotta go or we’re gonna miss that _thing we were gonna do_.” She grits the last part at Scott, making sure he entirely gets the hint that he shouldn’t ask what that ‘thing’ is. Stiles tugs Scott up, the boy going willingly. Anything is better than sitting there in front of his dickhead of a father.  
  
“Be safe!” Melissa yells as they bolt out the door just to infuriate her ex-husband.  
  
Stiles peels out of the driveway before McCall can see her Jeep. That would be a dead giveaway.  
  
“Not that this isn’t a welcomed disturbance, but what were you talking about? Also–“ Scott punches her in the arm. Hard. “That’s for telling my dad we’re freaking dating!”  
  
“So I talked to Hera.” She glances away from the road for a second to find Scott gaping at her. “And she said if I give into my nature, I can control the shift. What has everyone been telling me? To resist it! So that’s why I haven’t had a hold on this shit this whole time. So anyway, I need to fuck someone ASAP so I can control when I have a dick and when I don’t.”  
  
“And you want to fuck.... me?”  
  
Stiles bursts out laughing, like wheezing over the steering wheel laughter that only intensifies every time she catches a glimpse of Scott’s tomato red face. Five minutes later and Stiles is parked on the side of the road, tears running down her face.  
  
Scott is scowling at her now, and for some reason that’s even better.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Stiles gasps after a couple more minutes. “I’m so sorry.” She flicks away a tear before pulling off her seatbelt and turning to Scott.  
  
“I’m.... what’s so wrong with the idea of sex with me?!”  
  
“Um, the part where it’s with you.”  
  
“But you were attracted to Isaac!”  
  
“Yeah, but I was also attracted to him before. It’s like a hate-fuck situation. Actually–“ Stiles cuts herself off with a contemplative hum. “Nah, I can’t lose my virginity with a hate fuck. Maybe I should do it with you. You’re real mushy. I’m sure you’d make it romantic.”  
  
“I’m not mushy.”  
  
“When you banged Allison, did you call it making love?”  
  
“Yeah, but-“  
  
“Mushy ass bitch.”  
  
“I like boy you better.”  
  
“So do I. Speaking of, I desperately want my dick back. Like, _desperately_ , so I’m actually contemplating fucking you now that I know you’re serious.”  
  
Scott sucks in a harsh breath of air, brown eyes blowing out in a second. For some reason Scott is extremely attracted to her female form, and it’s not like they haven’t kissed before. Like, fuck Scott for counting Allison as his first kiss when he _knows_  what happened in Stiles’ bunk at summer camp that one year. It was just a peck but STILL. It counts.  
  
“So come on, lay one on me. I’ll decide where this goes from there.” Stiles closes her eyes and waits, and to her utter fucking surprise he actually kisses her. Like on the mouth. She thought it would take at least a couple more minutes of coaxing before he let go of his pride. He must’ve really been going through it the past couple weeks.  
  
Stiles opens her mouth and finds that she kinda likes it as she brings her hands up to play with the hair on the nape of his neck. Then her eyes flutter slightly and she catches a glimpse of _Scott_  at the same time as he sees her then they’re both screaming and trying to wipe the best friend off their mouths.  
  
“You really let that dumb bitch seduce you?” Stiles says, voice cracking and dropping suddenly. “Oh fuck not now!” Stiles can feel his features changing and thank god girl Stiles had chosen to wear a pair of his old sweats and a tank top so it’s only slightly uncomfortable when he’s suddenly three sizes bigger. This morning they (Stiles and _Stiles_ ) had internally debated over wearing a miniskirt for a long time before saying fuck it and putting on sweats. Scott stares at him in horror.  
  
Stiles whips off the tank top, nearly strangling himself with it.  
  
“This is just like Urkel,” his best friend says as Stiles is caught in the shirt.  
  
“Yeah, no shit!” Stiles yells as he makes it out of the shirt and throws the damn thing violently in a random direction. “And you all keep falling for Stefan as if it hasn’t been established that girl me is a fucking weapon of seduction, Scott.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” Scott says, and Stiles believes him because that’s just the kind of stupid, sincere, caring, honest, good person Scott is. Scott is about to continue when his phone starts vibrating. “It’s Allison.”  
  
Then, a beat later, both of them scream, “ALLISON!”  
  
••••  
  
In the end, they decide to be honest with her because Scott is a god awful liar, and also because he convinced Stiles not to go with the lying route. So after a quick shower and changing of clothes, they end up sitting on her bed.  
  
She seems fine. She’s very calm about it. And it’s so terrifying.  
  
“So you’re telling me you kissed Stiles?” she asks cooly, crossing her arms in a total power stance in front of where the two boys are sat on her bed.  
  
“Well, I kissed girl Stiles when she was-“  
  
Allison holds up her hand, stopping him. “You kissed Stiles. Yes or no?”  
  
“I mean— _yes_ , but-“  
  
She stops him again. “So… Since you kissed Stiles, don’t you think _I_ should kiss Stiles?”  
  
“What?! No!”  
  
“But it’s only fair.” She cocks her pretty little head to the side, faux innocence gracing her features. She flutters her eyelashes at him, and it’s mocking to the degree that Stiles is almost proud of her. It’s pretty hilarious when she gets like this even if most of the time it’s a result of someone getting in her head and turning her against the pack. Still, Nega-Allison is Stiles’ favorite Allison. Way better than lovestruck Allison or emotional, self-doubting Allison.  
  
“Do I get a say in this?” Stiles interjects, withering under her sudden cutting glare.  
  
“I don’t know, boyfriend-kisser. Do you?”  
  
Allison sits down beside Stiles, looking him in the eyes. “Kiss me the same way you kissed Scott.”  
  
Stiles thinks about arguing, but then he remembers he really doesn’t want to be here, in this situation, any longer than he has to be. In fact, he was kind of hoping to talk to Lydia because she’s the only person he knows with a reasonably calibrated evil-to-good moral scale. It’s way easier to talk to her about his problems because she doesn’t have some insane hero complex like everyone else.  
  
Stiles, secure with the knowledge that he has supernatural healing now, grabs Allison by the face and lays a fat one on her, catching her off guard. He’s not really trying to enjoy it or anything so he just kind of watches the wall over her shoulder while he gives the inside of her mouth a brief inspection. He pulls away when he feels claws on his neck.  
  
“That’s enough,” he hears Scott growl through a mouth full of fangs, and that’s good enough for Stiles. Allison, who brought this upon herself, is blushing madly and wiping at her mouth with the sleeve of her hoodie because as always her big dick energy was all a charade.  
  
“Now, if you two are done kissing me, I’m going to go see Lydia.”  
  
“To have sex?” Scott asks with a shocked look on his face, but he’s still wolfed out so it looks hilarious.  
  
“No, Scott, to talk. You can put the sideburns away, by the way. _Now_ , if you’ll excuse me.” Stiles makes his exit quickly, not wanting to be held up any longer. He needs a girl chat. Now.  
  
••••  
  
Stiles sits behind Lydia, running an ornate, silver soft-bristled brush over her hair repeatedly. It’s so therapeutic for him, which is weird, but Stiles doesn’t feel like analysing his psyche to find the reason why brushing the tightly coiled curls into gentle waves soothes his soul.  
  
“So, you’ve got to sleep with someone or else you’ll keep spontaneously shifting back and forth between sexes?” Lydia asks while flipping through a magazine— _Cosmopolitan_ , because it’s Lydia. “Remember who told you at the beginning that you should fuck someone?” she simpers, flicking the page over in the most infuriating way possible. Stiles wants to roll it up and smack her with it because she’s soiling his de-stressing time.  
  
“Yeah yeah yeah, you’re always right blah blah blah. If we’re done with the gloating, can we get on with the advice, or would you like to continue being unhelpful?”  
  
“I mean, isn’t it obvious?” She turns around where she’s sat crisscrossed on the little sofa in her bedroom, a expectant look in her eyes. “Who do you know that you’re close with and who would never judge you for needing this from them?”  
  
“Scott,” Stiles answers immediately, then barrels right through _that_  stop sign because he doesn’t even _want_  to hear what she has to say on fucking Scott. “I already tried. It was too weird.”  
  
“I-“ Lydia pauses, clearly struggling but not hiding the fact that she’s trying to hold back an amused smile, then she shakes her head and schools her face into something almost demure.   
  
And Stiles’ entire fucking world stops when she says, “Me.”  
  
••••  
  
Okay, so he’s about to make out with Lydia Martin, which is no big deal except the fact that it’s a huge fucking deal and he feels like crying because he’s waited for this for so long and it’s finally happening. Stiles has _feelings_  for her okay, and while the majority of them in the past were just a result of obnoxious infatuation, now he’s entirely blown away by the platonic love he has for her. Even if it’s not romantic, the fact that Lydia freaking Martin would even do this for him is insane, and it means that she really cares for him too.  
  
He has to admit, he’s using a little nymph magic to make it feel good for her. He knows he’s the last person on Earth she’d want to do this with.  
  
“Stiles,” Lydia says, pulling back less than a millimetre from where she was leaning into him. They’re lounging on her bed on their sides, facing each other. He raises his eyebrows at her. “I can _feel_  the self-depreciation rolling off you in waves, and I don’t even have super powers. Just, relax.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Follow my lead.”  
  
Lydia leans in, then, bumping their noses together playfully before she finally connects their lips, and it’s—  
  
Mediocre.  
  
Like, the kissing is good. Don’t get him wrong, her technique is perfect and her mouth tastes like spearmint, but it’s as if he suddenly decided to french kiss his sister, and that’s enough for him to pull away with a grimace. It’s Scott all over again.  
  
“Stiles Stilinski, I know you’re not making that face after kissing me. You’ve been gagging for my strap for six long years–“  
  
“Your _what_?” Stiles splutters, but she just barrels on.  
  
“– and now that I’ve finally given in you’re making that horrified face like you’ve finally realized what I’ve been trying to tell you this entire time.” The smile she ends her mini rant with throws him off completely. It’s so sweet and fond and nothing like the medusa, fire-lady he thought she was going to turn into if he ever pulled something like this.  
  
“Yeah,” he sighs, blowing out a breath of air as he collapses onto his back in her overly soft bedding. “I wonder if it would be different without the whole vagina waxing thing.” He looks up at her where she’s leaned over watching him process the official end of the world’s most epic crush.  
  
Lydia just hums in response. “ _Orrrrr_.... maybe you’re just into someone else.”  
  
“Scott?”  
  
“Scott?” Lydia questions, actually looking like he threw her for a loop. She nods her head encouragingly despite the clear look of confusion on her face— which _no,,_  not Scott. For the love of god, _not Scott_.  
  
Stiles leaps out of her bed and tries to pace off the yucky memory of Scott’s tongue in his mouth. God, girl Stiles is such a _whore_. He hates her. Sexual liberation is one thing, but this bitch’s ridiculous hormones made him kiss his best friend, and that is not alright. “No. God no.”  
  
“Hmmm, does his name start with a D then?”  
  
Stiles shoots her a look like she’s crazy. Just because he’s hooked up with Derek a couple of times (always as a girl), and he’s thought about having his little werepups or whatever the fuck they’re called, it doesn’t mean anything. (They would be named Derek Jr. and Claudia, but that’s not important.) It doesn’t matter because Derek is suddenly a law-abiding citizen, and Stiles isn’t interested in being with someone who only fucks him when he has a pussy. There’s a definite conflict of interest here no matter which way they spin it.  
  
“Lydia.”  
  
“Look, I am all for you and Derek getting it on. But, come the fuck on, Stiles. Girl you is all over him.”  
  
“Girl me is a menace,” he interrupts to no avail.  
  
“Girl you gets what she wants. You’ve been thirsting after Derek’s dick since he rolled into town, and you’ve done nothing about it. But girl you has been around for what? A month? And she’s already digesting his unborn children. What does that say about you?”  
  
“Love this pep talk,” Stiles says flatly. “You should do this for a living.”  
  
“It says that maybe you need to show Derek that both of you want to reverse cowgirl him because right now it probably seems like girl you is commandeering your body and not giving you a choice.”  
  
“If Derek doesn’t know I’m attracted to him by now, he’s really the world’s worst werewolf.”  
  
“Derek is just insecure about the whole situation. He’s a typical male. You have to show him what he wants.”  
  
Stiles pauses at that. The gears turning in his head are probably visible on his face as he realises that every single time he’s gotten it on with Derek, it’s because Stiles came onto him first. Not to mention, he explicitly stated that he likes girl Stiles. So that means he’s probably into normal Stiles too.  
  
**_Jesus McFucking Christ._**  
  
Stiles knows what he has to do.  
  
He has to bang Derek.  
  
As a dude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it's march. sorry.
> 
> also, i apologize for the stallison. i'm a closet shipper. also the sciles. and the stydia.... maybe I'M the whore.
> 
> part of the reason this was delayed is bc i suddenly decided to write 8 million fics at once. if you're interested, i'm doing a  rewrite of teen wolf  using teenage girl derek who's besties with sciles soooo 
> 
> i'm also working on a  fuckboy mage stiles fic  (ft girl Derek and a demon) 
> 
> And a mid summer night's dream type fic and ~maybe an office romance fic. And also something that involves knotting. And a sky high AU... Like I said, a million fics.
> 
> anyways, thank you guys for the support on the last chapter :)


	12. Break Up With Ur Girlfriend, I’m Cornered

Stiles knocks on Peter’s door. The asshole probably thinks nobody knows where he lives. Stiles has known for four months, ever since he trailed him for a day after Peter came back from the dead to make sure he wasn’t up to something suspicious.

 

Just to infuriate the wolf, Stiles covers the peephole with his thumb.

 

“I can still smell you, you know,” Peter says as he swings the door open. “I should’ve known you’d be the one to find me.”

 

Peter leads Stiles inside, and the place is every bit as pretentious as Stiles had imagined. Aside from the warm reds and browns, there’s a lot of carefully placed clutter. It’s the facade of a home, as if Peter would actually curl up with a cream coloured cashmere throw blanket and read a book to smooth jazz and the flickering of the millions of candles scattered everywhere. Okay, there’s only like twenty candles, but that’s still twenty candles more than Stiles would expect a person, who nearly burned to death twice, to own. Stiles would be entirely put off of fire at that point.

 

“To what do I owe this visit?”

 

“I need to know everything you know about ifrits.”

 

Peter’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Is that our new monster of the week?”

 

“I just... I’ve had this feeling. Like this wasn’t over. Something wasn’t right. And then- I think I saw him.”

 

“Who?”

 

“The malek.”

 

“Well, this is awful.”

 

••••

 

Stiles is standing in front of the candy section at the convenience store when it happens. She has a blue shopping basket full of assorted candies and also Peter’s credit card—

 

_“Give me your credit card.”_

_“Why?”_

_“She wants candy.”_

_“And why should I support your alter ego’s detrimental eating habits?”_

_“Because I asked nicely, and she won’t.”_

_“Fair enough. If I find out you bought anything other than candy, it’s a spanking.”_

 

—tucked into the top of her sundress so she’s pretty happy as she hums to herself and throws a bag of peach rings in.

 

“Do I know you?”

 

Stiles jumps a little before she looks up into big brown eyes. It’s Cameron.... her teammate. Who loves to taunt her on the field and is the reason why her transitions between shirts in the locker room are lightning speed. She feels phantom pains in her nipples and temples from all the titty twisters and stupid cyclones puns respectively.

 

“Nope.” She tries to go back to what she was doing but he sidles up to the display rack so he’s in her peripheral vision.

 

“You look _really_  familiar. What’s your name?”

 

“Stella, now fuck off.”

 

He looks shocked for a second before the big fat idiot laughs it off. “Feisty. Anyways, a couple of my friends are throwing a party— I’m on the lacrosse team by the way— and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go with me.”

 

“Oh the lacrosse team? Like the Beacon Hills Cyclones?” Stiles asks, just to get his hopes up, before dashing away any chance this fool thought he had at smashing her angel food cakes. “I heard Scott McCall practically carries the rest of you on his back. Scott’s pretty cute, by the way. Is he gonna be there?”

 

Cameron splutters long enough for Stiles to shrug out an ‘oh well’ and walk away. She definitely doesn’t swing her hips a little to taunt him because she’s _not_  a sadistic little bitch who lives to make everyone’s lives harder, figuratively and literally.

 

••••

 

Okay, Stiles can do this. All he has to do is get through today and prove to himself that he can last at least 8 hours without sprouting a vagina against his will.He’s done it before. It should be nothing.

 

It’s not nothing Stiles finds, as he steps through the school’s double doors and is almost overwhelmed by the barrage of emotions. Nearly everyone is anxious, excited, or horny, and Stiles can’t even fault them for it because those are his three primary emotions as well. He’s just a little disappointed to find out he’s already in his beta form, and the day hasn’t even started. That means there’s no padding between him and full on sprouting a pussy and wings. Not that his shift has ever progressed in order before, but it would still feel reassuring in a way to know that he was a plain human boy.

 

Alas, he is not. So he feels Allison before he sees her. Not to be a bitch or anything, but her star patterned tights don’t really match her skirt or ankle boots, and he has to refrain from telling her this as she links their arms (oblivious to the questioning stares because Scott and Allison are _THE_  Beacon Hills High couple).

 

“How are you?” she smiles genially, disguising the question she’s really asking, ‘are you about to lose your shit and take flight?’, to which the answer is a tentative no.

 

“I’m surviving.” He realises too late that Allison is leading them to Lydia’s locker where the redhead is applying some gooey pink lipgloss in the tiny mirror on the inside of her locker door. Stiles knows it tastes like strawberries, and it’s super weird to think that he found that out by nearly tongue-fucking her tonsils.

 

Stiles cringes at the wording of his thoughts, trying to mentally bat them out of his head.

 

“Well, if it isn’t my two favorite people.” Lydia’s wearing a smile that doesn’t entirely spell innocence and good intentions, but when has any part of her ever done that?

 

“I don’t see Margaret Hamilton and Channing Tatum anywhere,” Stiles says lamely. Lydia shoots him a look, not quite unimpressed, but still quite over his stupid joke.

 

“You’re in a good mood,” Allison comments, taking in Lydia’s outfit for the day. Stiles is, oddly, a little jealous that she gets to wear mini skirts while he had to go back to his frumpy old boy clothes. He’d at least tried to spruce himself up, opting for a pair of skinny jeans instead of his baggy denims and a fitted henley that he may have stolen directly off Derek’s back and hasn’t washed since because it still faintly smells of his cologne... and his sweat.

 

“I’ve spent three months wasting my fun and flirty summer outfits on you all. We didn’t even go anywhere where other people were. It’s just nice to finally be somewhere I’m appreciated.”

 

“At least you’re honest.”

 

Lydia’s eyes flicker over Allison’s outfit. “Those tights don’t match. You should take them off. It’s summer anyways. Show a little leg.”

 

“Too honest,” Allison grumbles, self-consciously rubbing her black-clad knees together.

 

“Well, I think you look beautiful,” Scott says lowly into her neck behind her, successfully startling her before he wraps his arms around her waist.

 

“What about me, Scotty?” Stiles asks, fluttering his eyelashes with a cutesy smile and a finger in his dimple.

 

And Scott genuinely looks him up and down, nodding his head with a smile that’s not quite as unassuming as he probably thinks it is. “You look nice, Stiles. But you smell like something familiar.” His friend leans forward and takes an exaggerated sniff of his chest. “Is that _Derek’s_  shirt?”

 

Stiles feels his ears go red and turns around, leaving everyone where they stand, snickering because they’re assholes.

 

He may or may not have chickened out of his first attempt at Operation Dude Bang, and waited until he spontaneously turned into a girl yesterday afternoon to start texting Derek very explicit pictures later that night which were followed up by Derek appearing at her window so fast Stiles suspects he was already lurking around his house. Since unearthing the root of Stiles’ newfound abilities, they’d almost all agreed that Stiles no longer needed a night sitter (because Stiles bribed Peter into secrecy about the possible ifrit situation by promising to expunge a speeding ticket), but Derek _had_  said he still had a bad feeling. And Stiles maybe possibly wasn’t hallucinating when he saw the malek in his mirror the other night, so to know Derek is still patrolling on medium alert does make him feel a little better admittedly.

 

Anyways, one thing led to another, and after said ‘things’, Stiles may have put on Derek’s shirt which led to two more very nice ‘things’ before Derek bounced into the night bare chested. And then Stiles, thankfully— _THANKFULLY PRAISE EVERYTHING THAT IS HOLY_ — turned into a dude just in time for his first day of junior year.

 

So, yeah, hopefully everything goes according to plan.

 

••••

 

Everything does not go according to plan.

 

Stiles just barely makes it behind the wall of the shower in the locker room before his legs give out. While he lies there, shifting, he tries not to think about the horrors the slightly damp tiled floor has seen or about the janitor’s irregular cleaning schedule. Come to think of it, Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever even seen a janitor go in or out of this room.

 

It’s a few minutes before she’s able to stand up, jiggling out her legs one at a time to get rid of the leftover tingling sensation. Luckily, he’d planned for this, stashing a plastic sack with panties, Lydia’s sundress, and a pair of sandals in it at the bottom of his locker under his cross country and lacrosse gear.

 

She steps out of the now oversized shoes and tears across the room, holding her pants up by the belt. As quickly as she possibly can, she grabs the bag and strips down, stepping into the dress easily before anyone can see her naked. She’s sitting on the bench clasping her sandals when she hears the door to the hallway open and close.

 

“Scott?” Stiles stands up straight when she doesn’t get a reply, instinct telling her to back away from whatever’s on the other side of the lockers. She can feel two presences when she focuses on it. One is vibrating at a medium frequency, typical of humans, but the other one feels high and tight and sharp, like anger. Like a threat.

 

“Stella?”

 

The second presence disappears, and Stiles breathes out in relief before seizing back up in a panic at the sight of Cameron’s dumb fucking jock face. The douche in question spasms his head, flicking his blonde bangs to the side. Seriously, nobody’s had this haircut since 2005. Can he just fucking _quit_?

 

Stiles stands there, frozen.

 

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” he says with this smile he probably thinks is mischievous and sexy but actually comes off as sleazy.

 

“What are _you_  doing in here?” Stiles’ nervous brain fires back automatically, which walks her right into his trap.

 

The bitch steps forward, trapping Stiles up against the lockers she had backed herself into to cover her blind spot from the threat. “This is the boys’ locker room. I think I have a little more credence to ask.”

 

“Well,” Stiles starts, folding her arms across her chest to put up somewhat of a physical barrier between them. It really only succeeds in pushing her tits up. “If you must know, I was waiting for someone.”

 

“Who?”

 

“My boyfriend.” Stiles groans inwardly at what she’s about to do, before calling out, “Scott, where are you?”

 

Cameron slaps a hand onto the locker above her head, ignoring the way she flinches, and leans his face close into hers. She _really_  doesn’t want to have to kick his ass, but it’s looking like that’s what’s gonna happen as he leans in close. It really fucking says something that Stiles was at least a little attracted to Blueberry Thanos, but she feels absolutely nothing but disgust for this dickhead.

 

“Stiles?” Scott calls into the locker room, and Stiles face palms mentally.

 

“Stella!” Stiles yells back.

 

“Stella? Who-“ Scott cuts himself off as he rounds the corner and takes in Cameron’s position over Stiles. Stiles doesn’t bother reeling in the evil smile that spreads across her face at the way Scott audibly growls. Cameron looks to her for help, and her grin only grows sharper, her whole body practically lighting up with giddy delight at the prospect of Scott whooping his ass in her honor.

 

“I’d say you have about half a second to get the fuck away from me.” Stiles leans in then, ghosting her lips over his as she whispers, “He bites.” She laughs evilly as the boy darts towards the door, through a path that bypasses Scott entirely.

 

Stiles runs up to Scott and throws her arms around his neck, squeezing him as she dances and continues to make devilish little happy noises. “That was fun!”

 

Scott doesn’t do anything; just breathes harshly, still radiating rage, so Stiles pulls back, looking him in his eyes that have begun to glow. “Down, boy. I’m fine. You were fantastic.”

 

“I thought you were in control.”

 

“Yeah so did I until Deandra Cunningham bit her lip in my entire direction, looking directly at me, and showed me her tongue ring. Anyways, when I get my dick back, I’m so smashing. I’m gonna get my dick sucked and it’s gonna be awesome.”

 

Scott stares at her as she rambles, expression morphing into something pained. “I don’t need to know about your sex life, dude.”

 

“I listened to you describe the taste of Allison’s cock socket in extensive detail. You’re going to listen to whatever I have to say. Speaking of Allison...” Stiles trails off with a sheepish half-grin. “I may have told Cameron you were my boyfriend.”

 

Scott pushes Stiles off him, then, throwing his hands up emphatically. “Why would you do that?!”

 

“He was trying to break off a piece of my kit-kat bar!! I had to do something!!”

 

“And you couldn’t just punch him?!”

 

“What is with you werewolves and brute force? I swear to god, this is why you cro-magnons need emissaries to handle any type of diplomacy.”

 

“Yeah? Well, Allison’s gonna kick your ass! And my ass! Both of our asses!”

 

“I should have said Isaac,” Stiles laments, pushing past Scott to get away from his whining.

 

••••

 

Stiles and Scott convene with Allison, Lydia, and Isaac in the library.

 

“This better be important,” Isaac says right off the bat, falling into the chair beside Scott. He must be attempting some world record involving being the bitchiest person alive. Sometimes Stiles just wants to grab him by the scarf and twist it until he turns purple.

 

Stiles finds the willpower in herself not to bring these fantasies to life, instead ignoring Isaac all together in favor of sending Allison a deeply apologetic look across the table.

 

“Ally. Allison. Allycat. Since the day I met you-“

 

Allison rolls her eyes as she cuts her off. “Stop bullshitting. What did you do?”

 

“I told Cameron Scott was my boyfriend please don’t kill me-“

 

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

 

Isaac bursts out laughing as the librarian shoots the group a dirty look, Lydia biting back an amused smile (poorly).

 

“I’m sorry. He was just all over me and I panicked!”

 

“So you just fucking steal my boyfriend?”

 

“I don’t think you understand. He was _this_  close to molesting me.” Allison’s features soften at this. “I already made it perfectly clear that I wasn’t interested in him, but he just wouldn’t leave me alone.”

 

“Oh, Stiles,” Lydia says sadly, taking Stiles’ hands up in her own much smaller ones. “Allison,” she says in this imploring tone, green eyes widening as she stares up at Allison in a way that can only be described as The Guilt Trip of Death. Allison looks away stubbornly, lips pursed. “Allison,” Lydia repeats, longer and more melancholy, and Allison breaks, slamming her hand down on the table.

 

“Fine! Fine! You can borrow Scott. As long as you don’t seduce him again.”

 

Isaac pulls a hard candy out of literally nowhere, and pops it in his smirking little mouth. “I can’t wait to see how this pans out.” And, oh, there’s that desire to choke him again.

 

••••

 

Stiles just wanders around the school the rest of the day, pretending to look busy so no teachers stop her. It’s actually kind of fun, especially when she spends about fifteen minutes in the library sucking on the end of her ink pen and making eyes at some geek in a sweater vest until he creams his pants. She might have used a little nymph magic, but it was totally worth it to see the pure mortification on his face as he held a binder in front of his pants and ran out of the library.

 

She does try to change back, focusing really hard on pushing the energy through her body, but she only ends up farting.

 

The end of the day arrives quickly, Stiles waiting for Scott at his locker.

 

“Did you even go to class?”

 

“Yes, Scott, I went to class with tits.”

 

“The sarcasm was unnecessary.”

 

Stiles follows Scott to the locker rooms, where her friend will soon be getting ready for the first lacrosse practice of the off season. Stiles’ asshole already aches from the reaming she’s gonna get the next time coach sees boy Stiles, but at least it’s not an active season practice where Finstock goes full angry pimp on them for missing.

 

Guys file past them as they talk, some of them blatantly checking her out. Trey even whispers a “nice” under his breath to Scott as he passes, as if Stiles couldn’t hear him or something. Trey is a fucking idiot. A hot idiot. But an idiot. He has a really nice ass. Like a _really_  nice ass.

 

Is Stiles drooling? She wipes her mouth as she shakes the intrusive thoughts about her teammates out of her head, tuning back into the conversation she’s supposed to be having.

 

“-hope Allison isn’t mad at me. You saw how she reacted to us kissing.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s because you guys were still dating. And you’re dating _me_ now,” Stiles emphasizes, privy to the listening ears around them. She cuts her eyes towards the door where she can sense a couple bodies pressed against it eavesdropping. “So if she’s mad, you can’t really blame her or help it.”

 

Scott, bless his little heart, nods understandingly with those adorable puppy eyes, then says, “Allison always watches– _watched_  practice on the bleachers. You can sit there.”

 

“Yeah, of course.” After a couple awkwardly aborted movements, Stiles manages to plant a brief kiss on Scott’s cheek before scurrying away to wash her mouth out with soap. Somehow, kissing Scott is worse than the time they’d showed each other their boners to prove they weren’t actually gay for each other, thank you very much, _Jackson_.

 

••••

 

Stiles leans back on the bleachers, wrapped up in the spare hoodie from her locker. Watching a bunch of hot guys physically exert themselves on the field is a bit of a religious experience now that she’s actually attracted to them in practice and not just in theory. Stiles shoots up in her seat as someone smacks her on the head with something hard and flat.

 

“Close your legs, heathen.”

 

Stiles mumbles curses under her breath as Lydia settles behind her with a lengthy looking book. Allison sits beside Lydia and offers Stiles a strained smile. She can tell it’s really killing her to not be able to lay claim on Scott’s dick every other second. Those two are so disgustingly wrapped up in each other. It’s like the puppy love phase is never going to end.

 

“Anything interesting happen so far?”

 

“Nah, they’ve just been running drills,” Stiles smirks, picking at the seam of her ultra short dress, just happy to have someone to talk to instead of sitting there alone awkwardly. “Jesus fuck, I want them to scrimmage. I want them to put the contact in contact sport,” she whines.

 

“Doesn’t it bother you that these are the same meathead guys you’ve been playing with for years? Like that has to be weird on some level, right?” Allison asks, tilting her head as she observes the guys on the field. Her eyes linger on Scott. It’s honestly pathetic. Stiles is jealous of their age-compatible love.

 

Stiles pulls the corners of her mouth down in the universal sign of ‘eh’, shrugging. “Not really. I kissed Scott and that was like the one thing I told myself I’d never do, so everyone else is fair game at this point.”

 

“I’ve still not forgiven you for that.”

 

Stiles looks at Allison with a wicked glint in her eye. “Oh? Even after the mouth fucking I gave you after?”

 

Lydia chokes on air, grinding out a wheezing laugh. “Wow. You really kissed her? Ally, I didn’t know this about you.”

 

“I didn’t kiss her. I kissed him. Boy Stiles,” Allison replies with an attractive red blush across the bridge of her nose.

 

“I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

 

“It was pretty mediocre, T-B-H,” Stiles interjects, yelping when Allison yanks on her hair in retaliation. People always talk about how much more aggressive and violent guys are with each other than girls are, but it’s starting to feel like that’s Good Old Boys propaganda to force women into submission and ladylike behaviour by discrediting women’s inherent physical and psychological sadism.

 

“Not because you’re a bad kisser!” Stiles amends, glaring right back at Allison’s squinted eyes while rubbing her head. “It’s just that on a scale of one to ten, my attraction to you is at a firm, objective zero. You’re my best friend’s girlfriend. He’s eaten your coochie. My brain has you firmly filed under ‘Feels Like Incest’ along with Scott.”

 

Allison nods in understanding, opting to turn her attention back to the field instead of apologising for her unfounded violence. Stiles bets she wanted to bodily harm her anyways for stealing her man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Broskis, I’mma be honest. I’m hitting a little writers block with this one bc the story is winding down. I estimate 3 or 4 more chapters MAYBE, but like I’m tryna power through it ok

**Author's Note:**

> I just decided to post a taste of this to see if y’all are interested. I have about 15k written on this so far, so if you’re interested in continuing let me know
> 
> FOR ALL INTENTS AND PORPOISES, let's pretend the alpha pack and darach happened at the end of sophomore year instead of at the beginning of junior year.  
>  I started writing this after not having watched teen wolf for like 2 years so like, I kinda fucked everything up. Also I found out that 3a and 3b happened in the same semester of school like wtf anyways, my whole mental teen wolf timeline was thrown off by that so just bear with me pls


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